Eden
by obsessmuch
Summary: An obsession that destroys everything it touches.
1. Capture

This story is set in the Trio's seventh year of Hogwarts, when Harry, Ron and Hermione are seventeen/eighteen. Pretend Deathly Hallows never happened while reading for simplicity's sake.

Like fluff? You're in the wrong place.

Romance? Wrong place.

Comedy? Happy endings? Thrills, spills, laughs and games?

Wrong place.

_Parental advisory – Explicit Lyrics. _

Warning – not for the faint-hearted. Read at your own risk.

_Danger – high voltage. _

Want some PWP? Go to the lovely people at adult fan fiction .net. They have an array of suitable titles.

_Mind the step. _

Hermione is not a kick-ass super-witch. Nor is she weak, feeble and useless. She likes Ron. In a _like-_like way. She lacks confidence. I will not be writing her in any other way.

_Keep out of reach of children. _

Lucius Malfoy is not a nice man who is simply misunderstood. Nor is he a perverse rapist. Even taking into account the final book, it is my opinion that he is an evil pure-blood supremist, and I have no intention of redeeming him.

_Caution – highly flammable. _

Nor have I any intention of portraying Ron Weasley as a moron. I adore Ron, so that's that.

_Rated M for strong violence, explicit language, and sexual content. _

This is not a 'Luciuous kidnaps 'Mione and they have teh smex' story. This is a story about hatred, obsession, fear and prejudice, not about sex and lust.

Well, not _just _sex and lust.

_Warning – Thunderstorms likely. Take cover. _

Still interested? Then take my hand and take a walk with me on the dark side.

You might always enjoy it. You won't know unless you try.

Oh, just jump in. I dare you!

* * *

'_Of Man's first disobedience, and the fruit  
Of that forbidden tree whose mortal taste  
Brought death into the world, and all our woe,  
With loss of Eden.' – _John Milton_, Paradise Lost_

* * *

'_She had a bossy sort of voice, lots of bushy brown hair and rather large front teeth… "Nobody in my family's magic at all, it was ever such a surprise when I got my letter, but I was ever so pleased… I've learnt all our set books off by heart, of course, I just hope it will be enough – I'm Hermione Granger..."'_ – J. K. Rowling, _Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone_

'_The man who followed could only be Draco's father. He had the same pale, pointed face and identical cold grey eyes… Mr Malfoy's eyes had returned to Hermione, who went slightly pink, but stared determinedly back at him. Harry knew exactly what was making Mr Malfoy's lip curl. The Malfoys prided themselves on being pure-bloods; in other words, they considered anyone of Muggle descent, like Hermione, second class…_' – J. K. Rowling, _Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets _and _Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire_

* * *

_'DEATH-EATERS AMONG US ONCE MORE!'_

'_A source from the Ministry of Magic has told the _Prophet_ that there has, one again, been a mass breakout from Azkaban. Our informant, who wishes to remain anonymous, claims that the new security measures put in place after the desertion of the Dementors were not enough to keep six dangerous prisoners locked up._

'They (the ministry) tried almost everything; I lost count of how many new spells they put on the place. They put hundreds of Aurors on guard duty; at one point they even thought of using trolls as security back-up. But nothing could match up to the effectiveness of the Dementors. The prisoners could feel happiness, and so were, I believe, able to keep their heads and plan their escape.'

_Our source wishes to make it clear that it is yet unknown how the prisoners escaped. However, they claim that all of the six escapees are known Death Eaters, that the Ministry is fully aware of the breakout, and that a cover-up is being attempted. _

'The Minister doesn't want the public to know that he's failed to protect them. He's built his reputation on being strong, and doesn't want to lose his job after only a year.'

_Rufus Scrimgeour has refused to comment on this story.'_

I sit back, allowing the newspaper to fall onto my desk.

I don't know why this has shocked me. There's been a bigger breakout than this before. And it's not as if it's entirely unexpected. I suppose we all knew, deep down, that it was only a matter of time before more prisoners would manage to escape.

All the same, knowing that it was probably going to happen anyway doesn't make things any better. Six more Death-Eaters are on the loose. As if the Order needs any more trouble right now.

I walk over to my window. There's a hollow, tickling feeling in my stomach. It's not hard to feel frightened these days, but the thought of Voldemort's army growing in size just reminds me of how bad things are getting. Ever since Dumbledore's death, I've been wondering whether we really _can_ win this war...

And I'm scared. I don't like admitting it, but it's true.

I reach my window, and find myself frightened of looking out into the street. It's stupid, I know, but I'm afraid of what I might see. I haven't felt like this since I was little, when I was scared of the dark and I had to sleep with the landing light on. I'd pull my bed-covers up over my head, too frightened to look out into the darkness of my room in case there was something there.

_Are you still five years old, Hermione? _

I lean forward nervously, look down into the street, and I see…

Nothing. Just the dark suburban road I grew up in.

I sigh and press my forehead against the cold glass. Some Gryffindor I am.

But even as I look every patch of darkness, every shadow, seems to become a Death-Eater's robe.

I bite the inside of my cheek before I turn away from the window and sit down at my desk, pulling one of my legs up and hugging it to my chest.

_You'll feel safer at the Burrow._

Yes. The Burrow. It won't just be me and Harry staying there for Bill and Fleur's wedding – there'll be loads of full-grown wizards about, and protecting charms on the building itself, I imagine. It won't just be me on my own, and I won't be putting my parents in danger…

I'm really looking forward to going, actually. The Weasleys are a laugh. And Mrs Weasley's food is always great. I'll see Harry, and Ginny, and…

_And Ron?_

I smile to myself and press my forehead to my knee. I want to giggle, and I don't know why.

No, actually, I know _why _all too well.

_Get a grip, Hermione!_

Maybe, after the wedding…

After the wedding…

Ron and I have told Harry that after the wedding we will go with him, wherever he goes.

That hollow, tickling sensation creeps into my stomach again.

Oh god. I don't want to admit it, but I've no idea how we can help him destroy the Horcruxes. It's just… it's such an overwhelming task to undertake. Oh, I know I'm good at spells and… and things, but I've never fought in an actual _battle _before. Unless you count the Department of Mysteries, but I was cursed unconscious for most of the time we were there. A fat lot of help I was then…

And, although I'm ashamed to admit this, I don't want to see Voldemort. It's different for Harry, he's seen him before and knows what he's going to face. I've only ever heard descriptions of him, and they were more than enough for me.

But… we _have_ to go with him. He can't do it on his own, and the three of us have been through too much together to let each other down now.

I shake my head, then look at my clock. It's half past midnight. Perhaps I'll read for an hour and then go to bed. After tomorrow I won't have much time to study, what with one thing or another.

I crack open the Standard Book of Spells Grade 7, and I start to read, almost reaching the fourth chapter when-

A small popping noise.

What-

Invisible hands lift me up, up, and I'm thrown forward and the wall's flying towards me, ow ow _ow!_

Small stars burst in front of my eyes as pain smashes through my body. I can't even scream for shock.

_My wand… my wand…_

Where is it?

But the invisible hands which hold me in place are replaced by a pair that are only too real. They're large, and strong, and they push me into the wall. Someone breathes steadily on the back of my neck.

_Who…?_

After what seems like an eternity, he answers my unasked question for me.

'Well met, Mudblood.'

Oh god! I recognise that voice. Drawling, quiet, refined. So much like his son's but deeper, older.

He must have been one of the six that escaped from Azkaban.

I start to struggle, but his grip on me is so strong I can barely move.

'Don't be a fool. You're nothing more than a schoolgirl. Do you really think to emerge triumphant in a fight with a Death-Eater?'

Oh God, how the hell am I going to get out of this?

_Keep calm_. _You need to think._

Think. Yes.

_My wand is on my desk, my head hurts, I'm so scared that tears are starting in my eyes-_

I won't cry in front of him. I won't be weak.

_I can't breathe with the weight of him pressing me to the wall, my parents are sleeping in the next room-_

A wand digs into my ribs. 'That's right. Don't struggle. This whole sorry business will be over and done with much sooner if I have your compliance. Just do as you're told, and I will have no reason to harm you.'

I breathe deeply and try to gulp down the fear.

'What do you want?' I whisper.

'That's for me to know and for you to find out, Mudblood.'

I press my lips together.

What does he want me for? He doesn't even _know_ me, not really.

_No. But you know Harry, don't you?_

I can't think. I'm so scared I can't think. All I know is that I can't move; he's pressing me so hard against the wall my bones are breaking, surely to god, and if I even try to struggle he'll curse me.

_Think, for god's sake!_

My wand is on my desk… I can see it, it's that close to me… If I could…

But he gets there before me. A pale hand reaches for my wand.

'You won't be needing this, I don't think.'

He closes his hand around my wand and snaps it effortlessly, letting the broken pieces of wood fall to the floor. My wand, my beautiful wand…

'Now,' he whispers. 'If you would give me your hand, Miss Granger, we can be on our way-'

A creak. The familiar creak of the door to my parents' room.

The body pressing down on mine tenses. There's a tentative knock at my door.

_Oh, no…_

'Hermione?'

Mum's voice.

The intruder steps back from me and turns me around, pinning me back to the wall by my throat, and for the first time since he entered my room I can see him.

I look up into the pale, pointed face of Lucius Malfoy. It's been a year since I saw him in the Department of Mysteries, but it seems that Azkaban has not changed him. He has some new, deep grooves in each of his cheeks, but this is the only difference I notice. His eyes are set in cold, steely determination.

'Hermione?' Mum's voice is shaking. 'What's going on?'

_'Colloportus!' _Lucius mutters, pointing his wand at the door. The handle moves up and down, to no avail.

'Your hand, Miss Granger,' he says, holding out his free hand to me. 'Or I shall force you to watch your filthy mother suffer torments… indescribable.'

'Hermione, whose voice is that?'

Mum's getting hysterical. The door handle moves frantically up and down.

I don't get it. Why doesn't he just force me to apparate with him?

Maybe… maybe side-along Apparation isn't possible without some degree of permission from the person you are taking with you.

But I can't give him _permission_…

'_Hermione! _David, help me!'

I don't have any choice. I can save my parents now, and get myself out of this later.

I take a deep breath and I hold out my hand for him, giving him my compliance to god only knows what.

He smiles triumphantly as he grabs hold of my hand, and suddenly I'm squeezing through a tiny space, and the air is pressing down on me, so hard I can't breathe…

Darkness. His hand is clutching mine, but my feet are on the ground.

'_Lumos!'_

As he mutters the incantation his grip relaxes, just a little.

_Now-_

I struggle against his grip. I look around me, trying to make out the surroundings. Trees. Lots of trees. I could get lost among them easily, I just need him to _get off me_!

I bring his hand up to my mouth and sink my teeth into his fingers. He sucks in his breath and his grip loosens. I pull away, but my foot slips and I fall.

He's laughing at me.

I scramble up onto my feet, struggling to stay upright in the wet mud, and I run. I don't care where I go; I've just _got_ to get away from him, because I won't survive if he manages to get me, I know that I won't.

I manage five steps before an invisible hook pulls me back by the shoulders, and before I know where I am my feet are planted to the floor and I am standing immobile, no matter how hard I try to move.

He steps in front of me, his face furious. 'I don't think so, Mudblood.'

He presses his wand to my forehead, and a white hot pain pulses in repeated waves from the point of his wand right through to the back of my head, like battery acid travelling through my nerve endings. It subsides, then the wave rolls over me again, and I clench my teeth, squeeze my eyes shut, but a cry escapes my lips, hurts, _hurts_, my head is going to split open, or burst, or-

The pain fades away.

I open my eyes warily and look up into his sneering face.

'Not pleasant, is it?' I can feel the immobility curse being lifted, though he grasps my arm so tightly I feel as if he's about to snap my bones. His pale face is alight with malicious triumph. 'If you persist in misbehaving you shall find that I can be rather… _inventive_ when it comes to inflicting pain-'

'As if it matters whether I _behave _or not!' I shout at him. 'As if you're not going to kill me anyway! Why should I do as you say until then? I'm not about to take orders from a Death-Eater!'

He grips hold of my chin. 'It is time you learnt your place in the world,' he says quietly. 'We all must obey those who are above us-'

'You're not above me-'

'And you _will_ do as I say, because you are worth less than the dirt on my boots. You are a waste of air.' He pauses for effect. 'You are_ nothing!_'

'And you're worth _something_ are you?' I'm shaking with rage and fear. 'You think you're superior to me because of your blood's _purity_. It's pathetic, do you hear me!'

He looks furious, but I can't stop myself. I'm terrified, and hurting, and angry, and I _won't_ be silenced.

'Do you expect me to cower at your knees and think of you as a powerful man? Well, I can see you for what you are; and all I see is an inbred, bigoted _coward_.'

He gives a small, mirthless laugh before bringing his wand to my cheek. A sharp, burning pain streaks across my face, but I don't cry out this time. It's only a sting, really, and it's over quickly.

'Have you never, in all of your worthless life, been taught to respect your betters?' he whispers harshly.

It's my turn to laugh. I laugh right in his face before spitting in it.

I'm acting braver than I feel, and as I see the look of rage and disgust on his face, I realise that perhaps I didn't think that one through…

He lets go of my arm to wipe the spittle away from his face. I take my chance and wrench myself out of his grasp, but before I can even begin to run he's got hold of me by the arm again. He pulls me close to him, pointing his wand at my throat. His face is so close to mine I can see that he's actually shaking with rage.

'I don't believe you quite understood me. I said I wanted obedience, and for you to know your place. And when I want something, Mudblood, I do make sure that I get it.'

That's when I feel my throat close up.

I gasp… or I try to…

But I _can't._

I frantically try to inhale some air, but all I'm doing is heaving pointlessly because there's nothing I can do. My lungs _scream_, my chest feels like it's collapsing, and I go so light-headed that I can't stand up, and I'm falling and _please don't let me die!_ I'm desperately, desperately trying to breathe-

And then my airways open and my lungs are filled so quickly with air that I begin to cough violently, all the while trying to fill my body with as much oxygen as possible. I cough until my chest hurts and my eyes stream. I'm in such a state that I don't care that I'm kneeling at his feet, clinging to the front of his robes_._

He waits until my coughing subsides before kicking me. He catches me in the chest and I fall onto my side. I lie there massaging my ribs, and the tears that I have been fighting so hard against slowly begin to run down my cheeks.

'Let that be a lesson to you, you useless Muggle,' he says quietly. 'I do not take disrespect lightly. Especially coming from a filthy Mudblood. Now get up.' He gives me a small kick in the back. 'I don't deny that crawling on the floor with vermin suits you, but we have an appointment to keep, and we don't want to keep our host waiting. So… if I'm not rushing you…'

Okay, so I know what he's doing now. He's taking me to someone else. At least now I know…

But… he could be taking me to… no, I don't want to see… _him_…

'Still insisting on rebellion are we? Very well.'

The invisible pair of hands pull me up again and set me on my feet.

'Do you believe that what you have experienced so far even comes _close_ to the pain I could inflict upon you?' He walks slowly around me, his voice low and angry. 'You _will_ learn some obedience, you little Muggle bitch, or you will discover that I can become rather ill-tempered when provoked.' He stops behind me, and lifts up my hair to whisper in my ear. 'Believe me when I tell you, Miss Granger, that by the end of our time together you will _want_ to obey me. _Want_ to.'

_I'll obey you when hell freezes over, you evil-_

The immobility curse is lifted and I fall to the ground.

God what's… what's _wrong_ with me? I'm not _that_ weak; I _know_ that I'm not.

I try to pull myself to my feet, and I...

I can't.

All of my body has gone entirely limp. I can't move a single muscle.

He crouches down next to me and lifts me up in his arms.

I try to struggle…

But I _can't_.

I've never felt so _helpless _in my entire life.

And I don't want him to _carry _me! Bloody Malfoy's father? I don't think so.

'Don't go expecting this sort of treatment regularly.' He walks through the forest, carrying me with him. 'This is only necessary because _you _wouldn't come quietly. If me carrying you around is abhorrent to you, then you can only blame yourself, and rest easy with the knowledge that the feeling is entirely mutual.'

My head falls backwards. The back of my neck aches with the strain, and there's nothing I can do to stop it.

He moves quickly, his wand illuminating our path through the trees.

Oh god, I don't want to see the Death-Eaters. I've seen them enough times to last me a life-time. The memories of that night at the Ministry still terrify me. I still have nightmares about that Lestrange woman. And then there was the man who hit me with that silent, painful curse. Dolohov. I can still remember the feeling of that curse, as if something had sliced through my chest and then… nothing but blackness.

And there are others. MacNair, the man that used to kill animals for the Ministry; Greyback, who mutilated Bill. Harry told me that Greyback relishes turning people into werewolves.

And Draco… will Draco be with them?

But all I can hope for is that he won't be taking me to… _him_. I've never seen him before, and I want to keep it that way.

In what seems like no time at all we arrive outside a derelict old shack in a part of the woods so dense I can't see the sky.

He puts me down on the floor. My head rolls to the side. He pulls a long, thin key out of his robes, which he uses to unlock the door to the hut. Then he bends down to pick me up again and carries me into the shack.

I look around as far as I can without the ability to move my head. The interior of the place looks like I would expect it to look from the outside of it; neglected, filthy and dark. He lays me on the floor again, and this time my head rolls away from him and I can't see what he's doing.

Why has he bought me here? What would they need me for? To give information about the order? Information on Harry? Do they just want to punish me for being Muggle born? Or do they want to use me to get to my friends? I don't know how these people's minds work; do they kill for business or for pleasure?

_Perhaps they're not going to kill you. Who knows how these people get their kicks?_

I would shudder if I could. I don't want to think about… about _that._

He's taking his time in here. I wish I could see what he's doing.

What are my parents going to do when they finally get into my room and they see that I'm gone?

They'll contact the Order. I told them that they should let the Order know if I go missing before they inform the police. I've taught them how to use an owl to contact them in case of an emergency. The Order will find me, they'll save me-

_How? _You_ don't even know where you are, how are they going to know where to find you?_

A noise fills the room. It's like stone grinding against stone. When it stops he walks over to lift me up again, and carries me down what seems to be a large stone staircase which I'm sure wasn't there when we first arrived. As we go down the stairs the hole we entered through closes in above us. Wherever we're going I'm not going to be able to escape easily.

_If you _can _escape…_

Down, down, through what seems to be a long, narrow cave. We keep going for ages and ages. He doesn't say anything to me. All I can hear is his breathing and his footsteps.

I don't know how I feel about this. I don't _want _him to talk to me, and even if I did I don't think I'd be able to answer him in my current state.

But still… the silence has given me too much time to think about what's going to happen to me.

There's nothing I can do to save myself. I'm completely alone. I've always had Harry, or Ron, or _somebody_ with me whenever I've been in danger…

Harry and Ron. What are they going to do when I don't turn up at the Burrow tomorrow?

Oh God, Bill and Fleur's wedding. It'll be ruined!

We come to what looks like a dead end, and he sets me down on the cold, damp floor. My head rolls to the side and I can see him as he shakes back his sleeve, exposing the Dark Mark on his arm. He presses the tattooed skin to the wall of the tunnel, and the dead end melts away to reveal the way ahead. He picks me up again and carries me through the passageway, and I hear rather than see the way close up again behind us.

I'm completely and utterly trapped.

A lone tear escapes from the corner of my eye and rolls down my face.

He lays me down on the floor, my head facing upwards. We must be quite far underground; the ceiling of this place is very high.

His face moves above mine. It's half in shadow, but I can still see his gloating expression.

'You know, it is tempting to keep you like this,' he murmurs. He picks up one of my arms and lets it drop again. 'So docile, so obedient.' He moves his face yet closer to mine. It's horribly contorted by shadow. 'So completely and utterly submissive.'

_Oh God, he wouldn't… oh no, please…_

'However.' He stands up and I can't see him anymore. 'I don't want to touch you any more than I have to. It's disgusting that _I _should have to _carry_ a Mudblood around.'

I'm partly relieved by that statement, but at the same time enraged by it.

He gives me another small kick. 'Get up.'

A shiver runs through me. I think… I think I can move again.

I slowly pull myself up onto my feet. My legs shake under me, and all the blood rushes to my head I stand up, swaying slightly on the spot.

He's standing in front of me, a small, patronising smile on his face. He leans forward and pats me on the cheek.

'Good girl.'

He steps back and offers me his arm, his eyebrows raised in a mocking challenge.

I just stare back at him. I won't let him toy with me.

'What did I tell you about obedience, Mudblood?'

I take a deep breath. 'You told me that we all have to obey our superiors. You told me that you are above me, and therefore I have to do as you say.'

He smiles. 'Well, my son always told me you were a know-it-all, but now I realise that you are simply a fast learner-'

'I am only a fast learner of _facts_,' I retort. 'But I've never been one to believe anything I'm told without question. And what you told me was a blatant lie. So, you see, I won't obey you. I'll die first.'

His eyes narrow in anger. He flicks his wand upwards, and my arm is twisted up my back. I sink my teeth into my lip to stop myself from screaming.

'You'll die first, will you?' He's standing over me, watching me struggle against the pain. 'I've lost count of how many fully grown wizards have told me that they'd die before they'll do as I ask. And without exception they all end up screaming for mercy, begging me on their knees to let them live.' He flicks his wand again, and my arm is released. I fall to the ground, and he breathes a laugh. 'Something tells me that you won't be any different, Mudblood.'

I lie still, just for a moment, trying to get my breath back.

Perhaps if I just keep quiet, he won't hurt me. Why antagonise him further?

_Where's your courage, Hermione? You're a Gryffindor, remember? _

I clench my jaw, and allow that thought to hook into me and pull me upwards.

'I'll never give you that satisfaction.' I stand up, and look him straight in the eye. 'You murderous _bastard_!'

He slaps me hard across the face with the back of his hand. No wands this time. My head snaps back with the blow and I taste blood in my mouth. When I look back at him I see pure hatred, plain on his face.

For a few moments we just look at each other. He's breathing heavily, as if he's been running.

I've never had anyone look at me like… like _that_ before. I've never had someone hate me so much when they didn't know me at all. People have called me Mudblood, but usually I've been disliked primarily for being clever, or bossy, or a friend of Harry's. Being Muggle-born is just another insult they can hurl at me.

But with Lucius Malfoy, I can see pure hate in his eyes, and it's all because of something I _am_, not something I've _done_.

And I realise then that there's nothing I'll ever be able to do to change that. How could I change what I am, or apologise for it, even if I wanted to?

Well, if he hates me then the feeling is entirely reciprocated. I hate him. I hate him for what he's done, and I hate him for what he is; a prejudiced, unfeeling _sadist_.

'It seems strange to me that you have not asked me where we are,' he says, his voice quiet and controlled. 'I would have thought that you would have _some_ curiosity about where I have brought you.'

He grips me by the shoulders and turns me around, showing me where we are.

It's not the hall itself that terrifies me. It looks almost like what I imagined the Chamber of Secrets to look like when Harry told me about it – green flamed torches, black stone walls, pillars entwined with stone serpents. No, it's the throne at the head of the hall that scares me. An empty throne with a huge stone snake rearing up behind it.

It's so dark it takes me a few seconds to realise there are people moving along the hall towards us. People in black robes.

My stomach knots with fear, and I start shaking uncontrollably. I can't… oh god, I can't…

'You are fortunate that our host appears to be otherwise engaged,' Lucius murmurs in my ear. 'Were he here I am sure he would be only too pleased to teach you a few lessons in respect and obedience. But don't fret. Soon, very soon, you shall come back here and meet him, and I'm sure you shall find him most… accommodating.'

I must be in the Death-Eaters' headquarters.

And although I don't know why I've been brought here, or what they are going to do to me, or who I am going to see, one thing _is_ clear - I'm never going to get out of this place.

The dark figures are getting closer. One of them calls over to us. His voice is deep, with a slight Russian accent; 'He's not here Lucius, but he wants to see her when he gets back. He says to put her away for now.'

_He? Who? Not… no… I CAN'T FACE… HIM!_

Lucius' hands have left my shoulders-

'_Stupefy!_'

I feel the rush of the spell before it hits me, and then…

Darkness.


	2. Fear

'_I feel the dread of this horrible place over-powering me; I am in fear – in awful fear – and there is no escape for me; I am encompassed about with terrors that I dare not think of.' – _Bram Stoker, _Dracula_

_Fear, noun - a painful emotion excited by danger; apprehension of danger or pain; alarm; solicitude, anxiety; that which causes alarm; risk or possibility; reverence or awe._

* * *

It's so dark…

_Where am I?_

I open my eyes, and all I can see is darkness. An odd, _green _darkness.

God, I'm thirsty.

A groan eases from my parched lips.

My vision's blurry. I can only see that strange, dark green colour.

_Where am I?_

I blink, and things start to come into focus. A low ceiling, black stone, green light…

And then I remember.

I sit up quickly, wincing with pain. Every muscle in my body _aches_, but the pain in my head is the worst of it. It's so bad my ears are ringing.

I look around me while rubbing the back of my neck.

I'm in a tiny… well, I suppose it's a cell.

I blink several times. It's hard not to. The lone, green-flamed torch gives light enough to see everything in the room, but leaves it dark enough to hurt my eyes with strain.

Not that there's much to see, apart from that pile of straw with a blanket over it, which I assume is meant to be a bed of some kind.

I suppose it could be worse.

_How could this situation _possibly_ be any worse?_

I'm not hurt… yet. And I'm still alive.

I take a deep breath. I need to be logical.

First… am I alright?

No, not really. There are bruises the shape of fingers imprinted on my arm, and my clothes are covered in mud.

I run my fingers along the fabric of my jeans, scraping the cold, wet dirt onto my finger-tips and under my nails.

I move my dirty fingers to the bruises that he left on my arm, circling the purple imprints. They must have surfaced quickly. Either that, or I must have been here for quite a long time.

Would I have arrived at the Burrow by now if _he_ hadn't appeared in my bedroom?

My nose and throat sting. What the hell do they want me for? Why couldn't they leave me alone?

I don't know what they're going to do to me here, but I can imagine. They must need me for something; otherwise Lucius would have killed me as soon as he found me.

I shiver. I know how these people go about making people do what they want. All I can think about is when I saw Neville's poor mother in St. Mungo's; her eyes completely blank, her hair falling out. She can't even recognise her own son, for crying out loud. What kind of horrors must they have put her through, to put her in that state?

How could I hold out against that sort of pain? Harry told me it's like nothing you've ever experienced until you feel it.

I wish Harry was here with me.

I wish _Ron _were here with me.

I curl myself up into a ball, hugging myself and resting my head on my knees.

Does anyone know that I'm missing yet?

Poor Mum and Dad. What are they going to do?

I wish more than anything that I was at home. That I'd just woken up in my own bed, and right now I was getting ready to go to the Burrow. Mum would be fussing about how I should have a proper breakfast, and Dad would be loading my luggage into the car. They don't like Apparation; they'd insisted that they would drive me there.

I want my Mum. I want her to give me a cuddle and tell me everything will be alright, and that she and Dad will look after me.

I won't let myself cry. I won't. While I'm alive, there's still hope.

I'm going to focus on where I am, and nothing else.

I stand up and walk over to the cell door, standing on tiptoe so I can see through the tiny barred window.

Okay. A corridor. Just like my cell, really, and lined with other doors like mine.

Maybe I'm not alone.

'Hello?' I call out.

Silence.

The door has no handle, but still I push against it with all of my might. I push and push, until with a cry of sheer frustration I turn back to the room, blowing my hair out of my sweating face.

Alright. Is there anything else?

No. Nothing except the four walls, and that 'bed' in the corner.

Bastards. Making people sleep on straw like _animals_. Even in Azkaban, I remember Sirius saying, they give you a proper bed.

_Yes, but they also used to lock people up with creatures that sucked all of the joy out of you._

That's different… most of Azkaban's prisoners were Death-Eaters.

_So Sirius and Hagrid were Death-Eaters, were they?_

I push that thought out of my mind, and crouch down by my new 'bed'. I pull the blanket up, and begin to search through the straw. I don't know what exactly it is that I'm looking for. Maybe a former prisoner left something here for the next poor sod that ended up in this cell.

But all the straw hides is a bare stone floor.

I sit back on the ground, trying not to be disappointed.

_What were you thinking? That someone would have left you a wand, a disguise, and a plan of the building?_

I can taste the bitterness of tears in my throat again as I look blankly at the mess I've made of what I'm supposed to sleep on…

Hang on a minute…_ what's that?_

There's something written on the bottom of the wall by the pile of straw.

I shift closer to it. The writing is raggedy; like it's been carved over time with a tiny stone or even a fingernail.

'_To the Order – Don't let them win'_

My eyes widen in shock.

'_Don't let them win'_

I read the message again and again.

'_Don't let them win'_

I won't. I _can't_. I won't help them win this war. I don't care what they do to me; they'll get nothing from me, _nothing…_

Men's voices are moving slowly down the corridor.

I crawl over to my door and press my ear against it.

'…no doubt will insist on putting up a tedious 'struggle'.'

It's him. The bastard who brought me here.

'Wasn't she one of those brats we ran into at the Ministry?'

'Yes, she was there.' The voices stop near my door, and there's a short pause. 'Damn, we're late.'

'Well then we'd better get a move on, hadn't we-'

'No, you go on, Antonin, there's no point in keeping you detained here. Could you send my apologies to the Dark Lord, and tell him I shall bring the girl to him presently.'

Footsteps move swiftly down the corridor, away from my cell. Then there's a muttered incantation, and a click.

I kick myself back across the floor to the other side of the room and press myself, crouched, against the wall.

It's him. Lucius Malfoy. Or 'Lucius Fucking La-di-da Malfoy', as Ron sometimes calls him.

He's no joke to me now.

He steps into the room, and greets me with a smooth smile.

'Ah, you're awake. Good. Bringing people round after a stunning can take time. How considerate of you to save me the bother.'

Hate surges through me like an electric current, but he seems oblivious to my loathing.

'Did you sleep well, Mudblood?'

_Go to hell._

He laughs at the look on my face. 'But of course you did. Forgive me.' He gestures around the room. 'And how do you like your accommodation? It's not the biggest room we've got, I grant you, but it certainly has… atmosphere.'

I just glare at him.

'But then, you grew up in a Muggle house, didn't you? I daresay that this _charming_ little room seems like a palace compared to the kind of living conditions you are used to.'

It sounds so much like something his pathetic son would say. And for some reason, I find myself remembering how Ron would reply to Draco's insults.

'Sod off, Malfoy.'

He raises his eyebrows, though the rest of his expression remains unfathomable. 'I'm not going to dignify that pitiful response with an answer.' He holds his hand out to me. 'Come. My master wishes to see you, and he will not take kindly to being kept waiting.'

His Master?

No, I can't.

My body curls in on itself in terror, and I press myself closer to the wall.

'Ah, not so brave now are we, Miss Granger?' He walks slowly across the room until he's standing over me, that horrible, gloating smirk not leaving his face. 'Where's that irritating Gryffindor _courage_ of yours? Deserted you at the mention of the Dark Lord, has it? I'm not surprised. You're not exactly his favourite class of person. But you can be rest assured that for the moment you are quite safe. He doesn't want you killed… _yet_.'

I stay still, breathing deeply, clinging onto that _'yet'. _That _'yet'_ gives me time, at least.

_Time for what?_

I don't know. Just… _time._

'Now, will you do as you're told and come with me, or will I have to use force once more?'

_No._

It's all I can cling on to. I won't go. I won't_._

He waits a few moments, before rolling his eyes and flicking his wand in my direction.

An invisible, irresistible force hooks into my chest and pulls me up on to my feet.

'There's no use in trying to get out of this one, Mudblood,' he says, not troubling to disguise the exasperation in his voice. 'The Dark Lord wishes to see you, and if you think he will tolerate disobedience then you are a fool.'

I look up in to those cold, grey eyes. I don't know what I'm looking for. Compassion, perhaps, or even just a hint of kindness. But there's nothing.

'Are you a fool, Miss Granger?'

I scowl up at him. 'No.'

'Then prove it.' He twirls his wand through his fingers. 'Don't make this any more difficult than it has to be.'

When it comes down to it, what choice do I have? He'll make me go anyway, if I try to refuse him.

Reluctantly, I give a tiny nod. He smiles, and steps behind me before pushing me out of the door in front of him.

I stumble out into the corridor, and he pushes me off to the left. There's a complete silence while I walk along as slowly as I can, with his wand pressed into my back.

I swallow down hard. I can hear… noises. Faint whimpering noises.

It seems I wasn't alone in this corridor, after all.

It's a long passageway. The walk down it seems to take forever. My bare feet pad softly on the cold stone floor. Lucius' shoes click smartly behind me.

And then… a spiralling stone staircase, which is made up of so many steps I feel sweat running down my back and a stitch pierces my side as we climb it, but whenever I slow down he prods me in the back with his wand and I feel a short burst of pain where he touches me.

And after that there's another long corridor. None of the doors in this one have any bars. And there isn't any whimpering, either.

I assume these must be the Death-Eaters' living quarters, although how they can sleep directly above a prison is anyone's guess.

I suppose Lucius must live here, now that he's on the run from the law. Not that it matters where he lives. Once I've seen Voldemort, I'll probably never have to see him again.

We reach a huge, elaborately carved door, which swings open with a horrible grinding sound as we approach it, leading to a horribly familiar, very large room, which Lucius pushes me into.

The room is silent, although there are about ten people in here, if my guess is right. They're dressed in black robes, and standing in a semi-circle around the giant chair at the head of the hall. The throne with the huge stone snake rearing up behind it.

And that chair is no longer empty.

All of them turn to stare at us, at _me_, as we enter the room. None of them are wearing masks.

I suppose they don't need to protect their identity from those who they don't expect to leave here alive.

I quickly move my gaze to the floor. I don't want to see, or to _know_.

I'm pushed towards the throne. I try to keep my breathing steady.

_Be a Gryffindor._

A couple of Death-Eaters move aside to allow us through. And that does it for me – I can't help it. My legs collapse beneath me and I fall to my knees. The stone strikes pain up through my legs, and I can hear the Death-Eaters jeering.

_Don't let them win…_

I pick myself up shakily from the floor; I might be terrified beyond anything I've ever known before, but I've still got my pride.

But I won't look at that throne. Pride will only take me so far.

Lucius steps around me, walking towards the throne.

'The girl as you required, my Lord.'

The Death-Eaters' jeering dies away as they wait for his response.

'Let me see her face.'

Oh God, that _voice_! It's got something about it, like nails being dragged down a blackboard.

'Look up, Mudblood.' That's Lucius' voice. It sounds like it did a few moments ago, when we were alone; drawling and cool. But there's a new note in it, something that wasn't there before.

I think it might be fear.

'_Look up!_' he hisses at me.

I won't look at that throne, I won't. I don't want to see…

I can't.

'She doesn't seem to be able to do as she's told, Lucius.'

I resist the urge to wince.

'Oh, I got to know this girl on our journey over here, my Lord.' That's Lucius' voice. There's a kind of… forced boldness in his words. 'She seems utterly incapable of willing obedience. However, with a bit of perseverance I think her will could be broken. She's only a child, after all.'

I'm seventeen years old. I'm not a child anymore.

_Then why can't you look at the throne?_

'It is the same with all Muggles, Lucius.' I want to put my hands over my ears, to block out that awful voice. 'They cannot see their own insignificance. They are so feeble, so _useless_ compared to us, and yet they cannot see it. Their arrogance refuses to accept their inferiority. And so when they failed to destroy us, they decided to push their children into our world, flaunting them as wizards. Or, in this case, as witches.'

The bottom of his robe swings as he steps off of his throne and walks towards me.

I can feel the sting of tears behind my eyes, and I grit my teeth against it. I'm not weak, I'm not…

But I can't look at him.

He stops a few paces away from me. I can see most of his body. He's tall, and very thin, I think. And his _hands_… they're like huge, white _spiders_. And there's no colour in the skin; I can see the tiny, purple veins running underneath it.

But I can't see his face yet, and I'm grateful for that.

'Look at me, Mudblood.'

I won't.

'The Dark Lord has ordered you to look at him, Mudblood.' Lucius' voice again. He's angry with me, I can hear it. 'You will obey your new master,'

Yesterday, I would have told Lucius that no-one is my master, let alone the so-called _Dark Lord_. But I can't. If Lucius scared me, it is nothing compared to how I feel in his master's presence.

Voldemort chuckles. 'It seems you're losing your touch, Lucius. Before you went into Azkaban you could make grown men crawl at your feet. Now, it seems, you can't even force a schoolgirl to do your bidding.'

Nervous laughter runs through the Death-Eaters, and when Lucius speaks his voice is tight.

'If I may, my Lord?'

I feel an invisible weight on my back, pushing me down onto all fours on the ground by their feet. My palms graze on the stone. I try to push myself up, but the force won't shift from my back.

It's alright. This isn't real obedience; I don't _want _to be crawling in front of him…

There's an invisible grip on my chin. It wrenches my head up, forcing me to face the pair of them.

_No…_

It's… it's not human. His face. _Voldemort's _face. It _can't_ be human. It's like a snake's, but then like a man's. And his eyes are… _red_, with _slits_ for pupils.

He runs those terrible eyes over my face, looking almost disappointed. I… I _can't _keep looking at him. I may not be able to move my head, but I can still move my eyes. I shift them away from Voldemort, and they rest on Lucius' face. His face, which I hated so much yesterday, is at least _human_. His eyes might be cold, but there's… something there.

Something human, anyway.

'So this is the Hermione Granger you and your son have told me about, Lucius. From what you told me this morning, I was expecting a bit more spirit from her. I have to confess, I am disappointed. Watching them attempt to fight against us is always amusing-'

'It seems that your presence has knocked some of the arrogance out of her, my Lord-' Lucius begins, his voice smooth.

Voldemort breathes a small laugh. 'You have not lost your great ability to say all the right things to all the right people then, Lucius.'

I hate myself for not fighting back, but although yesterday my instinct was to struggle, all of my courage has deserted me.

'Look at me.'

I can't, _can't _look at _that _again. I keep my eyes on Lucius, who meets my gaze with a frown.

'LOOK AT ME!'

A tearing pain streaks across my face. I suck in my breath, and look at Voldemort despite myself.

'Ah, little Mudblood,' he says, a small smile on his face. 'If you only knew just how _useful_ you are going to prove to be. You have spent your entire life being worthless, unwanted by either our or your own people. But you shall at this, the very end of your life, prove so helpful to our cause that it may be the one thing that will give your existence meaning.'

They're going to kill me. I knew deep down already, of course I did. But now he's confirmed it. They're going to get what they need, and then they're going to kill me.

'What you need to ask yourself is: how willing are you to help us?' He won't move his eyes off of mine. 'Will you make our task that much easier, or will you discover just how much pain you are capable of withstanding?'

How can I answer that? I say I'll help them, and I make myself a traitor. I say I won't, and they'll torture me. I can't face either of those outcomes.

And so I keep quiet.

'Answer me, girl!'

That sharp pain across my face again. But I won't answer.

'Do you _see_ this?' Voldemort's almost shouting now. 'Do you _see_ how this insolent little Mudblood disobeys _me_?'

He walks back to his throne and sits himself down on it.

'Punish her for me, Lucius.'

I look up at Lucius, who is already raising his wand. He remains still for a moment, with his wand in mid-air, before flicking it rather heavily at me in a sideways motion.

It's as if a huge metal fist has punched me hard in the stomach. My head falls forward and my back curls over as I gasp for breath…

'You will answer me, girl!'

That's Voldemort's voice again. I look up at him, breathing heavily through my nose, and then I move my gaze to Lucius, whose own eyes are as cold and detached as ever.

I don't care. He's not important.

I force my gaze back on to Voldemort, and I give the only answer that I can give to his question.

'I'll tell you nothing.' I can't move myself up off the ground, but I hold up my head as high as I can, breathing hard. 'You can torture me, you can kill me, and I'm sure you'll do both. But I won't help you win the war. The pain you will no doubt inflict on me will mean nothing to me as long as I'm suffering for what is right.'

Voldemort smiles. No, it's not a smile; the way his lips have stretched back is terrifying. No smile should look like that. He raises his wand…

'_Crucio!'_

Oh GOD! It's pain, _such_ pain, pain like nothing I've EVER known. It's like every nerve in my body is on _fire_ and I know nothing, nothing, nothing but agony. I claw at the floor, at my arms, at my face, it won't stop, it won't, God help me, I CAN'T TAKE IT...

Stillness. Miraculous stillness, and freedom from pain.

I lie on the floor, pressing my head into the cold stone. I'm shivering, and I ache all over.

And there's laughter. The Death-Eaters, Voldemort, and Lucius. All laughing at me.

I just went through more physical pain in one sitting than I've experienced in my entire lifetime, and they're _laughing _at me.

Jesus Christ.

'Pain doesn't bother you, Mudblood?' That's Voldemort's voice. 'Your indifference is well disguised. Pain seems to bother you immensely.'

I raise my head. I stare up at Lucius, who is looking down at me with a gloating smile.

'You coward.'

I only meant to _think_ that, not to say it, but I can feel my lips moving, mouthing the words silently.

Lucius is looking at me, the laughter dying away from his face.

I think he knows what I said.

Voldemort isn't watching me anymore. He's turned to Lucius, who turns his face away from me and towards his master.

'I'll give you charge of her,' Voldemort says to Lucius, his voice curt. 'I believe you'll understand when I tell you that, although the information she gives will no doubt be important, I do not have time to waste on acquiring it.'

They want information out of me. They'll torture me for it, and then they'll kill me…

_Don't let them win._

'I want everything she says written down, word-for-word,' Voldemort goes on. 'You may enlist others to assist you if necessary, as long as they haven't any important assignments to carry out.' He pauses for a moment. 'I don't care how you do it; just get the necessary information out of her. You do understand me, don't you, Lucius?'

'Certainly, my Lord.'

Lucius bows down low to his master, who waves a hand at me.

'Take her away. And make sure that she talks.'

I look up at Lucius, who smiles down at me.

'It will be my pleasure, My Lord.'


	3. The Virtue of Obedience

'_God harden me against myself,  
This coward with pathetic voice  
Who craves for ease and rest and joys:_

_Myself, arch-traitor to myself;  
My hollowest friend, my deadliest foe,  
My clog whatever road I go.'_ – Christina Rossetti, _Who Shall Deliver Me?_

_Pain, noun – physical suffering or distress, as due to injury, illness, etc; a distressing sensation in a particular part of the body; mental or emotional suffering or torment._

* * *

Where is he?

I pull my knees up to my chin, huddling in on myself.

I'm shaking. My teeth clatter together with the force of my fear.

I almost wish he'd done what he has to do straight away, rather than just leaving me here to wonder.

He didn't tell me when he'll be back. He didn't even look at me as he dragged me back to my cell. He just slammed the door on me when I dared to ask what's going to happen when he comes back.

It seems like hours have passed since then.

He's probably doing this on purpose. I wouldn't put it past him; prolonging the agony by giving me time to wonder about what he may or may not be about to do to me.

What _is_ he going to do to me?

That's a pretty stupid question. Of course I know what he's going to do… only I don't know the specific details, which is worse, in a way. I don't know what to prepare myself for.

Well at least it won't be Voldemort torturing me this time. I suppose I should be grateful for that, at least. If I ever see that dreadful face again it will be a million years too soon.

At least Lucius is… I don't know…

Human. Flesh and blood. Real.

Maybe he won't hurt me. He could just use Veriteserum, and have done with it. I don't see why he wouldn't… it would certainly be a quicker, cleaner method, wouldn't it? Just a quick drink and it'll all be over.

But I shouldn't be hoping that he'll take that route. At least if he tortures me, I have the option of holding out against the pain. I'd rather go through all sorts of agonies than give them the information they want… right?

I never realized until now that intense fear can actually physically _hurt._

Maybe I could lie to him. Maybe that will be a way out for me. I could pretend to relent under the pain, but feed him false information. I'll have to make sure that my lies can't cause anyone any harm, but if I pull it off then I might be able to get through this without betraying anybody.

But then… when they've got the information they want off of me, they're going to… to…

My heart sinks down to my toes, weighed down by absolute and hopeless terror.

I'm only seventeen. I don't want to die.

I used to lie awake at night, sometimes, wondering about death. About what might come afterwards. And I'd find it hard to breathe when I inevitably started to contemplate the notion of oblivion, or infinity…

I won't think about it, I won't.

But how can I _not_ think about it?

No. I've got to focus. I can't let them get what they want.

My stomach rumbles painfully. I haven't had anything to eat or drink since when I had my dinner, a few hours before _he _turned up in my bedroom. If I'd have known that was to be my last supper, as it were, I might have appreciated it a bit more. Grilled chicken and vegetables would never have tasted better.

Actually, I'm more thirsty than hungry. My throat is so dry it's almost painful. The walls of it stick together as I swallow.

I allow myself to fall onto my back, and I stare up at the ceiling without really seeing it. My mind is full, so full that it's about to explode, surely to god.

How the hell am I going to make it through this without giving them what they want?

The door clicks.

I scramble up to my feet as quickly as I can. I'm not going to let him begin with an advantage over me.

Lucius steps silently into the room. He quietly shuts the door behind him, and flicks his wand at it to lock it. He's not smiling, or sneering, or frowning. His face is a blank mask, showing no emotion at all.

I won't be afraid of him, I won't.

He's alone. He probably thinks that I'll be such a pushover that he won't need any help in making me talk.

'Now, Miss Granger, you will answer my questions,' he drawls. 'You will answer them promptly, and you will answer them correctly. Do I make myself clear?'

Breathe. The in. The out. 'You'll have to kill me before I tell you anything.'

He gives me a condescending smile. 'Let's put that to the test, shall we?'

I'm hot. The room is warm and suffocating and my deep, rhythmic breathing is lost, as suddenly I can't seem to fill my lungs with air quick enough.

He brings a small drinking flask out of his robes and hands it to me.

'May I offer you a drink?'

I instinctively reach greedily for the flask, almost snatching it off of him. I bring it to my mouth quickly, and I feel the beautiful moisture on my lips-

Oh god, what am I doing?

I push the flask back into his hands, absolutely furious at my own stupidity. He breathes a small laugh as he takes it off of me.

'You think I'm trying to trick you? You believe that I'm so simple as to just slip you something in your drink? Something that might loosen your tongue?' He sneers at the idea. 'You offend me, Miss Granger. Believe it or not, I was making an attempt at hospitality.'

Hospitality?

He takes a large, slow sip from the bottle, before lowering it from his lips and smiling at me again. 'Yes, I was attempting to be polite. I imagine that hours without water might make one rather... uncomfortable. But seeing as you don't want anything to drink…'

He turns the bottle upside down and allows the content to splash on to the floor. I watch the clear liquid run along the black paving stones, falling into the cracks between them, all going to waste.

He puts the flask back in his pocket, and removes a quill and some parchment from his robes. He magically levitates the parchment horizontally in front of him, and then balances the quill on top of it, just like that Skeeter woman used to. But this quill isn't acid green, like hers was; it's blood red, and very small. He lets go of it, but it remains upright on the parchment. He turns his face to me, and notices my curiosity.

'This is a special quill,' he remarks. 'If you tell the truth, the ink will run black; but if you lie, it will run red.' He smiles at me. 'Just a precaution, you understand. I do trust you to be truthful.'

Damn. Alright, so lying isn't an option. But I still have an alternative; I still have the option of keeping my mouth shut.

He takes a step back from the levitated quill and parchment, and speaks over them in a loud, clear voice;

'Lucius Malfoy interviewing the Mudblood Granger in cell fifteen.'

The Mudblood Granger? Is 'Hermione' too much to ask?

The quill scrawls across the parchment in black ink. Lucius nods in apparent satisfaction before turning back to me with a small smile.

'Are you ready?'

I smile right back at him, pulling my lips back with difficulty. 'Of course.'

He raises his eyebrows at my defiance, but continues to smile, enjoying this game of his own making. He pulls his wand out of his robes. 'Then we'll begin.'

I stand up straight. I'm not afraid of him.

_What a stupid lie._

'To start us off, Miss Granger,' he says, almost politely, 'as a warm-up, if you will, I want you to tell me the names of Harry Potter's friends.'

I glare at him. 'I might be mistaken, but didn't your son go to school with us?' I ask. 'Wouldn't it be easier for you just to get this information off of him? I know he's not too bright, but surely he could see who Harry was friends with at Hogwarts.'

I feel a stinging slap across my face, although he has not touched me. I swallow sharply.

He's not smiling anymore.

'I did not ask for you to insult my son, Mudblood. Or for you to display that infuriating know-it-all attitude of yours. What I asked, I believe, was for you to tell me who Potter's friends are.'

'You _know_ who his friends are. You must have some idea, anyway, otherwise why have you brought _me_ here to answer your questions?'

That sharp sting on my cheek again, but I'm ready for it this time.

'You seem slow to learn that I'm not here for your conversation, _scintillating_ though it may be,' he says quietly. 'I want you to tell me what I need to know. The reason I have not asked Draco to provide me with this information is that he only ever saw you in Hogwarts. He could not tell me who Potter was friends with outside of school, could he? But _you_ can. So if you wish to do things the easy way, then I suggest you name every friend he has. You don't need to tell me about yourself or Arthur Weasley's worthless son, however. If we did not already know that the three of you were as close as you are then you would not be here.'

I hate him for calling Ron worthless. I hate him for that more than anything else.

He's tapping his foot, waiting for an answer.

'You want the names of Harry's friends?' I say, trying to keep my voice as calm as possible. 'I'll tell you.'

'Well, thank you for making my life a little easier. It seems that you do have some common sense, after all-'

'Do you want these names or not?'

He pauses. 'Please.'

He's going to hurt me. My god is he going to hurt me.

'Their names are Donald Duck, Mickey Mouse, Kermit the Frog-'

He doesn't recognise the names I'm rolling off; they're Muggle inventions, after all. But he knows that they're nonsense, without having to check the parchment to see what colour the ink is.

'Bashful, Sleepy, Dopey, Rumplestiltskin,'

I look at the quill. It's running across the paper, scribbling down every ridiculous word I say. I start to laugh. I can't help it, and I know I should stop, and it's not funny but I really, _really_ start to laugh. I laugh so much I can barely get my words out…

The pain stops it dead.

I gasp and look down at my hand. My fingers are… bending… backwards…

'I'm glad that you find yourself amusing,' Lucius says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. 'After all, if we cannot laugh at ourselves, what can we laugh at?'

My fingers are bent back almost to a right angle. Horrified, I try use my other hand to hold them in place, but it's no use, as they continue to be forced backwards no matter what I do. Back, and back, and _back._

'Ah… ow!'

'Is it painful, Miss Granger?'

I feel the skin on my palm being stretched to tearing point. The bones in my fingers are popping and cracking as they give way under the pressure. I grit my teeth but, although I try to stop myself, I begin to shout meaningless nonsense in pain.

'Does that hurt you, little Mudblood?' He has to raise his voice to make sure that I can hear him over my cries. 'Can you feel your fingers breaking, screaming out for mercy? Is concealing the information I want worth this agony? You could stop it, you know; right now, if you wanted to. Just tell me what I want to know.'

They're bent back as far as they can go, but still the force goes on, relentlessly pushing them back, and back, and there's tearing and cracking and unbearable pressure, and I can't help it. I start to scream.

'STOP IT!' I bawl, and as I do there's a huge, wrenching pain right in the joints and I scream in absolute agony as tears roll down my face, and the pressure…

Stops.

But the pain remains.

I look down at my hand. The fingers are wonky and disjointed. I can't move them, no matter how hard I try.

'You… they're bloody _broken_-' I choke on a sob.

'Full marks, Miss Granger.'

I cradle my ruined hand to my chest, and I fall back against the wall, leaning all of my weight on it in a desperate effort to stay on my feet. I turn my head, hiding my face from him.

His footsteps move across the room, stopping when they reach me.

'I think we'd better start again,' he says, his voice perfectly calm. No emotion, no remorse, no pity.

'I want you to name Harry Potter's friends for me.'

I raise my head and stare at him through the tears which are burning my eyes. 'You cruel… you _evil_…'

'Oh please, I've heard it all before,' he drawls. 'Any comments you wish to make on my character will, I'm sure, not be new to me.'

He doesn't care. He doesn't _care-_

I can't look at him. I let my gaze fall to the floor.

'Now,' he continues, his voice low, 'tell me what I want to know, and I'll mend your hand for you in a heartbeat.'

No. This is nonsensical. No-one could do this to another human being, surely…

_Would it be so terrible just to tell him?_

YES!

_Why?_

'My patience is not limitless, Mudblood. I would advise you not to make things worse for yourself.'

I hate him. I hate him so much that I want him to die.

'Why do you need to know this so much?' I ask, furious at how my voice is cracking. 'Why do you need to know who Harry's friends are? Is it so crucial a bit of information that it is worth torturing another human being in order to acquire it?'

I clutch my poor destroyed fingers to my chest, my entire body shaking uncontrollably. There's a long silence, punctured only by my heavy breathing.

'This information is important, believe me. Do you think I would be asking you to provide it if it were not?' His voice is quiet again. I won't look at him as he speaks to me. 'And I resent your laying the blame at my door. You could end this in a moment, but you don't have the basic common-sense to save your own skin. One could say that you have brought this pain upon yourself, with your own stubborn wilfulness.'

He grips me by the chin and forces me to look into his face. His expression remains entirely unreadable. 'Now, will you help yourself by helping me? Or do you need a little more… persuasion?'

Although I know what I have to say, I still feel like I have to force the words out of me; 'I'll never help you, you _bastard!_'

He lets go of my chin, before brutally wrenching my injured hand away from my chest, heedless of my broken bones.

'Haven't you done enough?'

He meets my gaze with a look as cold as stone. 'Evidently not.'

He presses the tip of his wand to the middle of my hand, and mutters an incantation I can't hear.

That's when my hand begins to burn.

At first it just tingles, almost like a nettle sting. But it swiftly develops, growing hotter and hotter, becoming a full blown, merciless _agony_. It leaps all the way down the nerves in my arm, electric shocks of white heat. An iron is being pressed to my bare skin, and I scream and scream, falling to my knees while he keeps hold of my hand, continuing to press his wand into it.

I can feel my skin _bubbling_!

I claw at his leg with my free hand, bawling at his feet. 'My god, ohmygod, please-'

And then he draws his wand away from my skin, and lets my hand go. I collapse onto my hands and knees, letting my injured hand fall to the floor. I look at it, sprawled across the black stone. Crooked, purple-red, broken twigs of fingers, and burnt flesh, swelling and blistering and _bubbling_ before my eyes.

Oh _god_.

'I have many more distasteful tricks up my sleeve, Mudblood, should you continue to defy me,' he says, his voice perfectly controlled.

I look up at him, sobbing so hard that I feel dizzy with it. 'Piss off!' I scream at him.

He retaliates by stepping on my hand, my broken hand. I scream myself hoarse as he grinds his foot down onto the broken fingers and the burnt skin.

'I grow tired of asking you this, and so let this be the last time.' He has to yell to make himself heard over my wailing. 'Who are Harry Potter's friends?'

My burned skin rips and my broken bones grind under his boot. The pain is above and beyond my comprehension. It is no longer something I feel, but something I _am._

_Just do it, Hermione. Nothing's worse than this._

I have to. I just can't go on. I can't take anymore. It has to end, I can stop it…

'Me,' I begin to whimper, 'And Ron. We're… we're his best-'

_-_grind,crunch,screamofpain-

'I _know_ that.' His voice is raised in impatience. 'I want the names of his other friends, those whom I do not know about.'

I can't tell him, I can't.

Boot presses down harder, harder, Oh, nooooo…

'Neville Longbottom,' I stumble on. 'Luna Lovegood, Rubeus Hagrid, ohpleaseplease… Ginny Weasley…'

I stop, horrified at what I've done, but there's a twist, a _ripping_ twist, no no nonono!

'Anyone else?' he asks, ignoring my screams of pain.

Who else is there? Who else, anyone else-

'Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan, he shares a room with them. Remus Lupin, Nymphadora Tonks. Mad-Eye… I can't think – nono, please don't, no pleasepleasedon't… Mr and Mrs Weasley. Fred and George Weasley. Fleur Delacour. Ernie Macmillan. Justin Finch Fletchley. Colin Creevy.' I stop, gulping heavily. 'I can't think of any more-'

'Try, Mudblood.'

Polished boot grinds broken fingers into stone-

'PLEASE… I'm telling you the truth, I can't think of any more, I swear, I SWEAR!'

He lifts his foot off of my hand.

I curl up in a ball, shaking in sheer agony, weeping to myself in pain and self-disgust.

What have I _done?_

I can still see him through my tears. He walks over to the levitated parchment and inspects it. When he sees the colour of the ink, he turns to me with the smallest of satisfied smiles.

I can't look at him anymore, not after what he's done to me. I close my eyes.

'You see, Miss Granger: we _can_ work well together, if only you choose to apply yourself.'

What can I say in reply? I've given him what he wants.

I've _helped_ him.

The thought is unbearable.

He picks up my hand again. His touch sends new spasms of pain through my arm.

'Oh no, leave it _alone_!' I wail, without looking up at him. I press my face to the floor, feeling the cold stone on my skull.

He presses his wand to my skin. A huge rush of warmth runs through my hand, right to the tips of my fingers. And there's no pain.

I lift my head up slowly, not quite sure whether to believe it.

It's healed. It _must _be healed. I can move my fingers again, and the burn has sealed up, leaving only a red, shiny scar in its place. The bruises around my fingers are still there, but the digits themselves don't hurt as I flex them in his grasp. I gulp as the tears in my eyes dry up.

He lets go of my hand, but still I look at it, mesmerised by how easily it has healed, and how quickly such pain can vanish.

'What made you think you would be any different from the others, Mudblood?' he asks quietly. 'All of you, every person I've ever had to _deal with_, you have all believed that you can hold out against the pain. But none of you ever can. I have told you already; when I want something, I make sure that I get it.'

'But at what price?' I ask, my throat sore due to my screams. 'How far can you go to get what you want, until you start to hate yourself for it?'

His face is still unreadable. 'The end justifies the means. Not that I would expect you to understand that. As a schoolgirl, you may not yet be aware of the complexities of adult morality.'

'I'll tell you what I don't _understand,_' I say furiously. 'Why do you have to torture people for the information you want? Why don't you just use Veriteserum on them? It would make things easier for you, surely?'

I stop myself before I can say any more.

_Don't pretend that you don't want him to use it. A free ticket out of this agony and guilt…_

'Oh, no, I don't think so.' He crouches down next to me, and runs his wand slowly down my cheek. 'This method is so much more… interesting, don't you think? Your insolence and disobedience is infuriating, indeed. But there's something so… satisfying about watching you eventually giving in to the inevitable, finally enacting some _willing _obedience, without the aid of potions or mind-control.'

Anger hits me so hard that I feel sick with it. 'What is _wrong_ with you?' I scream, pulling myself to my feet. 'He told you that you could use any method necessary to get the information he wants, I heard him. Why do you have to torture me for it? You don't have to! You could use the Imperius curse on me, or you could use truth serum. But you won't. You choose the option that will cause me the most suffering, even though it makes everything much more difficult for you. Why do you want to hurt me? I haven't done anything to you. Why do you hate me so much?'

There's a long pause.

'I do not hate you,' he says eventually. 'I despise you; there's a difference between the two. I despise you because you're a Mudblood. And _t__hat_ is why I choose to torture you instead of using any of the _cleaner_ methods. Any Death Eater would do the same thing; I am not unusual in that respect. Because any opportunity to teach one of you a lesson should not be wasted.'

'What _lesson?_ What do I need to be taught?'

'Your place, girl, your place!' His voice is rising in anger. 'None of you muggle-borns know your place. You masquerade as wizards and witches, acting as if you belong in our world. And you; _you_ are the worst sort of your kind. You, with your know-it-all attitude and intellectual snobbery. You set yourself up as equal, if not better than, your pure-blood peers, when you are really just a freak of nature. _That_ is why I want to hurt you. And _that _is why I despise you.'

He turns away from me and walks over to the other side of the room. He stops by the cell door, and runs a gloved hand over the back of his sleek blonde head, taking a deep breath.

I watch him collect himself, and when he turns back to me his face is emotionless once more.

'Thus far we appear to be making progress,' he says, as if the last few minutes have never happened. 'Not without struggle, I grant you, but your common sense seemed to prevail over your so-called 'ideals'. I thank you for your eventual generosity in naming as many names as you did.'

I bite down on my tongue, hard.

'Yes, young Harry seems quite popular,' he continues. 'But then, why wouldn't he be? The Boy Who Lived was always destined for hero worship.'

He's building up to something.

_Don't crack this time. Try and stay strong._

'The thing about heroes is they always have a huge female following,' he says idly.

Oh God, no!

'I want you to give me the names of every girl he's ever had a little, ah… _romance_ with,' he says with a sneer.

'Why?' I ask.

An invisible fist punches me in the stomach again. I bend double, coughing violently as I try to get my breath back, holding my stomach to try and get rid of the pain – dull, pounding pain.

'_You_ will not question _me_, Mudblood. I thought I had made that clear.'

I look back up at him. He has his wand readily positioned to curse me.

But the pain of my broken, burned hand suddenly seems so far away.

I can face it again. I have to.

I stand up straight, ignoring the aching twinges in my ribs.

'And I thought that _I_ had made it clear that you will have to force any information you want out of me.'

He rolls his eyes. 'How tedious,' he says with a sigh. 'You know, there is only so much of this sort of behaviour that I am prepared to put up with. Why won't you just make things easier for us both?'

I raise my eyebrows, trying to think of a suitable reply.

'I guess I'm just a difficult girl.'

For I second, his mouth twitches up into what might be a smile. At least I think it does… but the next second it's gone again.

He raises his wand and pauses for a moment, frowning in concentration.

'Now, what would be the most… persuasive method I could use?'

I wait for ages while he keeps this charade of indecision going.

'I could use the cruciatus curse, of course,' he's saying this quietly, as if he's musing to himself. But I can hear every word, as he means me to. 'But where's the fun, the variety in that? It's so… obvious, don't you think?'

I don't give him an answer. Not that he expects one.

He flicks his wand down.

I feel…

_Nothing_

_Just emptiness. _

_My brain has left my head. _

_Oh, it's lovely. _

_All the pain, the agony of thinking… _

_gone._

_Just warmpinkhappysleepy and there is no pain or thought or being…_

_A knife. In a pale hand._

_I take it._

'_Cut your leg.'_

Don't…

_Doubt wiped away by the warm, comforting voice with a weight heavier than God. _

'_Cut your leg. It won't hurt, I promise you.'_

_He's right. _

_Nothing can hurt me, nothing will hurt me. Not in this tightcozysnug warmth that I'm wrapped in._

_I do all that I know. _

_I sink the knife into my leg-_

ARRRGHHHH!

'_You're not hurting, not really. Pull the knife down your thigh.'_

HurtshurtsSOMUCH!

'_No, it doesn't. Pull the knife down through your flesh….'_

'_And again…'_

'_And again…'_

And then the voice leaves.

Oh my God, my LEG!

I'm left with nothing but agony. It crashes down on me so quickly that I scream and shout with it. I fall to the floor in pain and shock.

_Jesus Christ!_

My jeans are in shreds, and my thigh has deep, bloody trenches running down it. Mud and blood and flaps of skin, but the knife's disappeared, and _ohmygodohmygodohmygod_! So much warm, sticky, dark blood, oozing out of the wounds, trickling down off of my leg and on to the floor, drying in clumps.

I have to tell him, I have to.

'Look, I'll tell you what you need to know! Just please, _please_ heal my leg!'

'You tell me the names of the girls first,' he says with absolutely no emotion whatsoever. 'Then, perhaps, I will consider your proposal.'

'Please, I'm _begging _you-'

'No. First you will tell me what I want to know.'

'Why won't you help me?'

No answer.

I've got to stop this bleeding.

My t-shirt. Perhaps – yes.

'Ginny!' I scream, pulling my t-shirt up over my head and frantically pressing it to my wounds, using it to stem the blood flow. 'He was with Ginny, but they broke up a few weeks ago…'

'Ginny?' I don't look at him as he speaks. 'Not Ginny Weasley? Arthur Weasley's daughter?'

'Yes!' I don't even register what I'm saying anymore. I just know that I need to stop this pain before it kills me. My t-shirt soaks up the blood, but still I bleed. Nothing can stop it, nothing…

'Anyone else?'

'Please, my leg…'

'I want the rest of the names first, Mudblood. Your leg can wait. You needn't worry – I'm not going to let you die yet.'

'But it _hurts_-'

'Yes, I know. That's kind of the point, isn't it?'

Bastard. Sadist. Sick, evil, twisted-

I groan in agony.

'In our fifth year he dated a girl called Cho Chang,' I say desperately. 'But there's no-one else.'

'Are you sure?'

'NO-ONE, I SWEAR!'

He walks over to the levitated parchment to see whether I am telling the truth.

'Only two,' he says, a small chuckle in his voice. 'The most famous seventeen year old in the wizarding world, and you have only two names to give me. Good God, how pathetic, and yet somehow very unsurprising.'

I'm so _dizzy_…

'Oh, please forgive me. I forgot about your little _accident_.'

He points his wand at my leg, and that wonderful, familiar warmth spreads along it. The wound heals up, the skin sealing itself over the mud, trapping it in my leg.

He doesn't get rid of the blood, though.

'Get dressed, girl,' he snaps.

I blink, and then I remember.

I pull my drenched t-shirt over my head. The soaking, warm material clings to my body. I feel my blood seep out of the cotton, onto my skin.

He nods at me.

'Well, it seems you can follow orders, after all. How compliant you can be when you put your mind to it! The information you have provided so far shall, I am sure, be put to good use.'

I clench my hands into fists, digging my nails into my palms.

'Yes I am sure that these two girls with prove to be most useful to our cause.'

Tears begin to fall down my cheeks. My throat is thick with suppressed sobs. I clench my jaw to keep myself silent, but I can't get away from the giant darkness pushing its way into my body - the enormity of what I've done.

'Ginny Weasley!' he goes on, with relish in his voice, 'I remember her at eleven years old, with her father in Flourish and Blotts. So young, and so innocent. I knew that she would be an ideal person to be taken in by the diary. She would be naïve enough to let it into her mind; I could see that in her. That she was a Weasley only made the situation even more delicious.'

'Too cowardly to do your own work, weren't you?' I say before I can stop myself, my voice rising and cracking with emotion. I get up from the floor. 'You could have given Draco that diary, and taught him how to use it. You didn't have to use an eleven year old girl to do your dirty work. But you'd rather ruin an innocent girl's life than allow yourself to be associated with any wrong doing. Oh, you cared about getting the Muggle-borns out of Hogwarts, but you cared more about your own reputation, didn't you?'

His face is loosing what little colour it has. 'Don't talk about what you don't understand-'

'I understand all too well!' I scream, unable to control myself. 'I understand you! You're a coward!'

His face is a mask of rage. 'What did you call me?'

'YOU HEARD WHAT I SAID! If you had any bravery, an honour in you, you might have at least stayed true to your master after his fall. But you didn't – you renounced him rather than go to Azkaban and face up to what you'd done.'

'SHUT YOUR FILTHY MOUTH!' he roars.

'NO, I WON'T! You were a coward when you snapped my wand in half. You wouldn't even give me a chance to fight against my capture. Does it make you feel like a big man, torturing a helpless teenager when they have no way to fight back? You coward, you coward, you _COWARD-_'

His fist slams into my jaw. Small lights burst behind my eyes, and the iron taste of blood fills my mouth. I lose my balance, the blow is so strong, and I fall. Almost as soon as I hit the ground he kicks me hard in the stomach. Once, twice, three times. I scream-

And then there is silence. I watch him as he turns around and walks to the other side of the room, and stands for a few moments with his back to me.

Can't breathe… hurts too much…

For what seems like ages I lie still, desperately rubbing my stomach in an attempt to get rid of the pain. He doesn't turn to face me.

Eventually I pull myself into a seating position, pressing my back into the wall. My stomach's _killing _me, my hand is pink, shiny and bruised and I'm covered with blood, blood which is now cool on my body.

After a few more minutes he turns around to face me again, his face struggling to keep calm. He looks down at his boots. I follow his gaze. They're shiny, and wet…

'I've got your filthy blood on my shoes,' he says. 'Wipe it off. Now.'

I look up at him, not believing my ears. 'Clean your own damn shoes.'

There's a small silence. A muscle is going in his jaw.

'Do you need yet another little lesson in obedience, girl?'

'SHUT UP!' I scream, completely losing it. 'Do you think I care about _obedience?_ How can you stand there, ordering me to wipe _my _blood off of your shoes after what you have done to me today? Do you really think that forcing me to do that would make me accept that I'm below you? Well, it won't. Obedience is meaningless if it's forced; no matter what you do to me, you can't make me _want_ to obey you.'

'_I CAN DO WHAT I LIKE_!' he shouts at me. 'You don't seem to understand: you are at my mercy! How _dare_ you talk to me like that? You should be grovelling at my feet, completely willing to do whatever I tell you. Why do you continue with this insufferable insolence? Will nothing teach you of your inferiority? Do you think that I can't hurt you more?'

He points his wand at me.

_Oh no, OH NO…_

'CRUCIO!'

No! Nooooooooooo! I can't, oh God, I CAN'T! It burns, I'm _burning_! I scrabble at the floor, my body is being ripped apart by wild beasts, teeth, nails, claws, and why? _Why won't it stop_?

He lifts the curse, and I'm left shivering. I'm crouched at his feet, just as he wishes me to be. I look up at him through my tears.

'Why?' I ask, exhausted with pain. 'Why are you doing this to me?'

He's silent, his wand still pointed at me.

'Please, just… just stop.' I grab the front of his robes. 'You don't have to do this. It's not right, you know that it isn't. Would you want Draco hurt like this for what he believes in? He's the same age as me.'

His face doesn't even twitch at the mention of his son, but I don't stop; I have to get through to him.

'Please. You must have some kindness in you. You're not your master; you're not inhuman, Lucius.'

'How dare you use my name?'

I shake my head. 'You must have some compassion in you. You're a human being, you _must_ do! Can you carry on like this? Will you sleep well tonight, or will you lie awake, remembering my screams?'

His eyes drop away from mine.

'Can you look me in the eye, after what you have done to me today?' I ask quietly.

For a moment, it looks like he can't.

'Please,' I carry on, my voice cracking. 'Please-.'

'Get off of me,' he says, brutally kicking me again in the ribs. I fall onto my side, and I look up at him. The look of pure loathing on his face freezes my blood. 'Am I supposed to be moved by your pathetic pleas? How dare you ask me to pity you? I _detest_ you!'

He turns away from me, walking over to the levitating quill and parchment. He plucks them out of the air and puts both of them into his robes.

'We shall resume our interview tomorrow.' His lips barely move as he speaks, and he won't look at me. 'And I shall expect more co-operation from you when I return. In the meantime…'

He points his wand at the floor and a goblet of water and a tiny loaf of bread appear on the stone.

'You can believe whatever you like about me, Mudblood,' he says, opening my cell door with his wand. 'But you can never say that I do not have a sense of _hospitality._'

He slams out of the door, locking it behind him.

For a few moments I stay still, curled up on the floor. I roll my head upwards and look blankly at the ceiling as silent tears roll out of the corners of my eyes.

I can't feel. Pain has anesthetized me.

But I can _think_…

I can't let myself think. If I think, I'll have to face up to what I've done.

But I have to face it. There's no escape from it. My head's going to explode with the knowledge of what I've done.

I roll over onto my front, and push myself onto all fours. I crawl heavily over to my bed. As I approach it, I see the inscription on the stone,

'_Don't let them win'_

I've failed.

I let myself collapse on my straw bed, grateful for the comparative softness and warmth. I curl up in a ball, pulling the blanket up to my chin, wanting to sink into endless darkness, where there is no more pain.

I start to sob. I can't help it. The tears roll down my cheeks and my nose runs. I cry and cry, long into the night, with no-one to hear me.


	4. Hell

'_It is easy to go down into Hell; night and day, the gates of Death stand wide; but to climb back again, to retrace one's steps to the upper air – therein lies the difficulty.' – _Virgil, _The Aeneid_

_The beverage you are about to enjoy is extremely hot. Please sip carefully._

* * *

I curl my legs up to the side of me. Even that minimal movement is an effort.

Perhaps I'll grow sick of the sight of the ceiling in the end. But right now I don't know if I ever will. I've been staring at it for hours.

I've only moved when I had to - when that silent, sullen-faced woman has come to take me to the bathroom for toilet breaks every few hours. And once I got up of my own accord, to eat the food that Lucius left for me.

I haven't slept.

At first I cried. I cried and cried until eventually I wore myself out.

Now I've gone numb. The hours have thrown me into a blank, barren haze.

I kick my blanket off of me, suddenly unable to bear the heat. I'm damp with sweat, and have been for hours now.

I need some _food. _My head hurts with hunger… or perhaps with something else, I don't know.

Or care all that much.

For the first time in my life, I want my brain to shut down. I want it to let me sleep, and not to keep turning over, and over, like a tyre running down an endless hill.

Why did I do it?

What are they going to do to the people I've named?

Why couldn't I be brave when it mattered?

I'll never sleep again.

What's that noise?

My sore eyes flicker to the door of my cell. Footsteps.

I sit up, slowly, wincing as my muscles creak into use after hours of immobility.

The footsteps stop outside of my cell, and a pale face appears behind the window.

I've got to be stronger this time. I know what to expect from him now. I've got to fight, and this time I've got to win.

I stand up as quickly, wiping the sweat away from my forehead.

The door clicks open, and Lucius steps into the room. But he's not alone this time. There's another wizard with him. He's about the same height as Lucius, and around about the same age, I think. I recognise his pale, twisted face from somewhere, but I can't put a name to it.

'Good morning, Miss Granger,' Lucius drawls. 'You will, I am sure, remember Antonin Dolohov? The pair of you met at the Ministry of Magic, I believe.'

Oh God, I remember. How could I forget that silent whiplash across my chest, and then the unbearable pain, and then the darkness? I never saw his face at the time, but his picture had been in the Daily Prophet for almost a year before that.

He must have escaped from prison with Lucius. Perhaps he was another one of the six mentioned in the _Prophet_.

God, reading that news story seems like another lifetime, now.

'My, haven't you grown up since I last saw you, my dear,' Dolohov says, grinning. 'I don't blame you for wanting to keep her to yourself yesterday, Lucius. She's quite pretty.'

Oh, for god's sake.

Lucius raises his eyebrows incredulously. 'Well, each to his own, I suppose. No accounting for taste.'

Dolohov begins to walk over to me, slowly.

'You do know that she's a Mudblood, Antonin?' Lucius asks.

'I can look even though I'm not allowed to touch her.'

_What?_

I push myself back into the wall, wrapping my arms around my torso.

Dolohov comes closer. Too close. I can see every line, every muscle in those twisted features. I meet his gaze in what I hope he sees as defiance.

I might as well not bother - he's not looking at my _face_.

I look at Lucius, who takes a few steps forward and lays a hand lays on Dolohov's shoulder, pulling him away from me.

'We don't touch Mudbloods or Muggles, Antonin,' he says, his voice very quiet. 'The Dark Lord is very particular about it, as you know.'

Dolohov raises his eyebrows and backs away from me, his hands raised in compliance. 'If you say so, Lucius. But what the Dark Lord doesn't know won't hurt him-'

'So you say. But if he were to find out about your… unusual tastes, I do not believe that he would be best pleased. You know how he feels about such things.'

I breathe a sigh of relief. Thank god. At least I'm safe... in _that_ respect, anyway.

'Now stop wasting time.' Lucius' voice is curt again, giving orders. 'We have work to do. Set the quill up, will you?'

Dolohov takes some parchment and the tiny red quill Lucius used yesterday out of his robes and turns to go and set them up on the other side of the room.

Lucius turns to me. I meet his gaze, but it's as cold as ever.

I'm not going to _thank_ him for anything. I refuse. So I just look at him.

He raises an eyebrow, before he turns away from me and walks over to Dolohov.

I wish it wasn't so _hot _in here.

'Are we going to get started, then?' Dolohov asks.

'Yes, I think so,' Lucius replies. 'Although I did tell Bella that we'd wait for her. You know how much she enjoys this sort of thing.'

Bella? Oh please, not that evil woman!

'But no matter,' Lucius continues. 'I'm sure she'll be here soon enough.'

Perhaps she won't turn up. Hopefully I'll be left with just these two.

_A strange thing to hope for._

Lucius turns to the levitated parchment and quill, and speaks clearly over it as he did yesterday;

'Lucius Malfoy, assisted by Antonin Dolohov, resuming the interview with the Mudblood prisoner Granger in cell fifteen.'

I _hate _how he calls me that. How much effort is it for him to call me Hermione?

The pen scrawls across the parchment in black ink, and Lucius turns to me.

'Miss Granger,' he says, almost politely. 'You remember the process, I assume. We will ask questions, and if you fail to answer them correctly then you shall be punished. Is that understood?'

I nod, giving him nothing else. There's no point in pretending that I don't understand him. I understand all too well, now.

He smiles at me. 'Very good. To start us off, I think it would be... _interesting_ for you to tell us about Harry Potter's relationship with his family.'

I raise an eyebrow. 'His parents are dead, _Lucius_. I thought everybody knew that.'

I feel that stinging slap on my cheek again, but I'm so used to it now that I don't even draw breath. I keep my eyes steadily on his.

'Firstly, _Mudblood_, I think I made it clear yesterday that I will not accept insolence from you. Secondly, you know full well that I am not asking you about his parents. I am asking about the family he lives with. His Aunt, his Uncle, and his cousin. Don't feign stupidity, please. It doesn't suit you.'

I can't answer him, even though giving him this information can't really cause any harm. I can't answer him because I can't let him beat me again.

'I'm sorry,' I say, watching him closely for his reaction. 'Harry never mentioned his family to us. I don't know anything about them.'

He takes a deep breath. He knows that I'm lying. Of course he does. He grips me by the chin, looking down into my face.

'You're looking tired,' he says. 'And not all that well either, if truth be told. You don't look as if you could withstand much pain this evening.'

'There's nothing wrong with me!' I hiss at him, even though my head's pounding so badly my ears are roaring. 'I am perfectly capable of facing anything you are prepared to throw at me, so I suggest that you stop wasting time and get it over with, because I won't answer you.'

I expect him to smile, to take the opportunity I have presented to him and use it to cause me more pain. But he doesn't. He just stares back at me long and hard, his grip tight on my chin.

'It's not wise to provoke me, Miss Granger. I think you know that by now.' He brings his wand up to my face, and uses it to brush a lock of hair away from my cheek. 'Don't be a fool-'

'I'm not a _fool_,' I snap at him_._ 'If I were a fool then I would tell you what Harry thinks of his family without hesitation.'

He takes a deep breath through his nose, his mouth set in a very thin line.

The knowledge that I'm pissing him off terrifies me, but at the same time makes me feel elated, excited. Satisfied. It's the one small bit of power I have over him: the ability to make him angry.

'Oh, come on, Lucius!' I jolt at Dolohov's voice. I'd almost forgotten he was here. 'She's not going to answer, not without a bit of encouragement. Let's teach her a lesson-'

'No,' says Lucius, his eyes still on me. 'I want to give her the opportunity to answer us first.'

He steps back from me then, giving me space to breathe once more. I look from Dolohov's pale, twisted face to Lucius' smoothly aristocratic one.

'Your attitude has changed since yesterday,' I say quietly, looking at Lucius. 'Don't tell me you listened to what I said to you.'

Dolohov looks at him. 'What's she talking about?'

I raise my eyebrows at Lucius, who glares back at me.

_I dare you to tell him._

'Nothing. She just thinks she's being clever, that's all.'

He strides over to me and pulls me forward roughly by the arm, standing me in the middle of the room. I wrench myself out of his grip.

'Harry Potter has never spoken to you about his family?' Lucius' voice brims with impatience. 'How long have you been friends with him? It must be at least… six years? I find it very hard to believe that in all that time he has never mentioned his family, not even in passing.'

'I've told you, I can't help you.' My voice is beginning to waver. 'He never once spoke to me about them.'

Dolohov stops next to the levitating parchment, and looks down at what is written there. 'She's lying.'

'Of course she's lying!' Lucius hisses, finally losing his patience. He comes closer to me, so close that he's practically standing on my toes. 'This is your last chance,' he says, his voice very low. I don't think he intends for Dolohov to hear him. 'You know what I can do. I can make you suffer horrors beyond imagining with a mere wave of my wand. Tell me what I need to know, and you need not go through yet more pain.' He pauses, and when he speaks again his voice is so quiet even I can barely hear him. 'Or have you not learned your lesson since yesterday?'

I take a deep breath, trying to clear my head.

Why don't I let him win, just this once?

_Because you promised yourself that you would never do that. Don't let them win – remember, Hermione?_

I meet his eyes, and when I speak my voice is almost as quiet as his own. 'No. Maybe I'm not as clever as you think I am.'

Something glints in his eyes. He steps back, and speaks to Dolohov without looking away from me.

'You may do the honours, Antonin.'

Why won't he do it himself? For the last few days he seems to have relished causing me pain.

Then I remember him laughing as Voldemort tortured me. So at ease when he could watch somebody else do his dirty work for him.

_Coward. _

He's looking at me, frowning.

I remember what Harry told me about Legimilency – that weird mind-reading trick that Snape had to teach him about. What did he say? You need to make eye contact in order for it to work.

I might not be able to do Legimilency myself, but I'm sure that a fully trained wizard such as Lucius Malfoy can.

I think the word 'Coward' with all of my might, all the while keeping my gaze fixed on his.

His frown deepens as he continues to meet my gaze. He knows what I'm thinking. I'm sure of it.

Good.

Dolohov steps forward, his features alight with excitement.

'Keep her conscious if you can,' Lucius says coolly.

Dolohov smiles complacently. 'I'm not an idiot, you know.'

Lucius pulls a face which demonstrates that he doesn't quite hold with that view, but Dolohov doesn't notice. He makes a familiar, slashing movement with his wand, muttering an incantation that I can't hear over the thumping of my own heartbeat roaring in my ears, not again not again no _no!_

Purple light streaks out of the end of his wand.

Oh my God, my ribs have broken, all of them, my organs have collapsed, oh it hurts, it hurts so _much_! I want to faint, reach for the dark, reach, reach darknessnopain-

Still conscious.

Everything's dark, and pain remains, spins through my ribs, heart, chest. Stabbing, pulling, snapping.

Tearing pain in my… knees, yes, knees, as I fall, and now only the dark, the pain, and-

-voices.

'Give it some thought, Miss Granger.' Lucius' voice. 'This information is nothing compared to what you gave us yesterday. You don't even know these people. What does it matter to you what we find out about them?'

No. Don't let them win, don'tletthemwin.

Crushing vice, python around ribs-

'Just say 'yes' if you want to help us,' says Dolohov, his voice so, so far away. 'We'll stop this right now, if you want…'

Another wave of pain, crushing my ribs into my lungs and my heart. Dizzy with the pain, feel _sick_ with it… wave after wave of agony, screaming, chest collapsing, _why am I still conscious? _

Head shutting down, no thoughts, pain. Pain. Slicing through ribs, cracking bones, nothing worth this, nothingnothing-

I open my mouth-

And then it stops.

Twanging spasms are still running through me, but the intensity is lessening with each pulsing wave.

My mind is clearing. I can feel my body, and the cold floor beneath it. The darkness is fading.

I open my eyes slowly. I look up, my whole body shaking, and I realise that there are now four of us in the room.

The door of my cell is open, and a dark-haired woman is leaning languidly on the doorframe with a smile on her beautiful, wasted face.

'Having fun, are we?' she asks. She steps into the room and pushes the door shut behind her, locking it with a lazy flick of her wand.

Dolohov backs away from her, eyeing her with a kind of abashed reverence, but Lucius meets her imperious gaze as an equal, and smiles back at her.

'You're late,' he says, without any real reproach in his voice.

She shrugs. 'Something came up.' She looks at me then. Sees me. And she smiles. 'Has she talked?'

'Not yet, but she will,' says Lucius, who look down at me as he stands next to Bellatrix. 'She did yesterday, quickly enough.'

Anger boils and steams like a spring inside of me, and I speak before I can stop myself.

'You had to drag every word I said out of me, and you know it-'

He flicks his wand at me quickly, and my teeth sink into my tongue before I can say anymore.

'You'll speak when spoken to,' Lucius says curtly, before turning back to Bellatrix. 'She has a great deal of pride; even for a muggle.'

'I'm not a muggle-' I start to say, but Lucius forces me to bite down on my tongue again.

Bellatrix giggles. 'Well, first things first - you need to break her spirit.' Her eyes positively glitter with excitement. 'Physical pain is a marvellous tool; I know that above all things. Nothing is more guaranteed to loosen a stubborn tongue. But you've got to soften them up first; it makes the task in hand a lot easier in the long run.'

Lucius smiles, and he gestures at me. 'Why don't you start us off?'

I look up at him, and his smile widens as he reads the emotions on my face.

'Go on, Bella,' he drawls. 'Show us how it's done.'

I can't _believe _him! If he wants to hurt me, why can't he do it himself?

'Coward,' I whisper.

He sees me, though neither of the others do. His smile vanishes.

Bellatrix steps towards me, crouches down and looks into my face. I meet her mad, feverish eyes, attempting to keep my expression neutral.

'You appear to be sweating,' she says. 'Is it too hot in here for you?'

Does she have to point it out? I'm so warm my hair is damp on my neck.

'Perhaps you are wearing too many layers.'

No. Oh God, no!

I feel sick with panic and icy chunks run through my veins.

I look up at Lucius, expecting him to put his foot down as he did with Dolohov. But he doesn't say anything. He just watches Bellatrix with a slight frown on his face.

She stands up. 'Get up, Mudblood,' she says. 'It is impolite to sit in the presence of your betters.'

'That's fortunate,' I say quietly, 'because I see none of my 'betters' here.'

'Oh dear,' she says with a smile. 'She has ideas above her station. Never mind, I am sure I can find a remedy for that.'

She flicks her wand at me.

Spasms of pain run in shivers down my back, again and again.

And again.

And it gets worse as it goes on, worse and worse with every juddering shiver.

_Get up, Hermione. It's not worth it._

I pull myself up on to my feet, nearly collapsing forward as I do so. The pain stops as soon as I stand up.

'She certainly is a wilful one,' says Bellatrix. 'I think that stripping away her dignity might do her the world of good.' She turns to her brother-in-law. 'Do you want to do the honours, Lucius?'

'Please, Bella, I only ate half an hour ago.'

Those words hit me like a slap in the face. I don't know why, but I can't stand it. He just seems so determined to make me feel as much like shit as is humanly possible.

'Please yourself.' Bellatrix shrugs, turning to Dolohov. 'Antonin? I know that you have… leanings, shall we say. You can do it.'

Dolohov comes over to me, rubbing his hands with glee. I quite literally feel my stomach turn. I step backwards, but he chuckles softly, enjoying the sport.

_Get away from me don't touch me I don't want to…_

My back bumps into the wall. I press myself into the stone, and he stands in front of me, so close that I can smell his putrid breath, feel the warmth of it on my face.

He reaches forward and puts his hand under my t-shirt, on my stomach. All of my muscles tense involuntarily. I can't stand it. I kick out-

He recoils, howling and clutching at his crotch. Bellatrix screams with laughter, and Lucius' mouth is twitching slightly.

'You little BITCH!' Dolohov roars. He makes to move back over to me, but Lucius grabs hold of him by the arm before he can reach me.

'Now now, Antonin, don't take it personally,' he says soothingly. 'You've got to see her point of view. After all, what self respecting woman would let you near them if she wasn't being paid for it?'

Bellatrix giggles again, and Dolohov's face colours up. 'Stop _laughing_ at me-'

'Oh Antonin, where's your sense of humour?' Bellatrix asks, before she flicks her wand at me.

I fall to the floor. I try to move… but my muscles are slack and useless. Again. Fan-bloody-tastic.

I've fallen onto my side. I suppose that's better than falling onto my back. At least from here I can see around the room.

I look at Lucius, willing him to do something, anything, to help me. But he doesn't even look at me. His eyes are fixed on a middle distance, deliberately looking anywhere but at me.

_Coward._

It's the one thought that comforts me.

'Go ahead, Antonin,' says Bellatrix smugly. 'She will not fight back now, you can be sure of that.'

'Is this really necessary, Bella?' asks Lucius, frowning at her. 'Isn't this somewhat beneath us? She is a Muggle, after all-'

'You said that she has too much pride,' she replies. 'What better way to begin to take it away? Don't argue with the expert, Lucius.'

He doesn't reply, but gives the tiniest of nods.

I take that nod, and add it to my file for reasons to hate him.

My insides shrivel up as Dolohov crouches down next to me, pulling each item of clothing off of me with a terrible slowness. My skin crawls with a thousand cockroaches, and no, NO, this can't be happening, I want my mum and dad, and I can't have them seeing me naked, they can't, no-

Lucius won't look at me.

I watch him, more to distract myself than anything else.

I hate him so much. That I can cling to for sanity.

_Look at me._

Flakes of dried blood scatter lightly on my skin as my t-shirt is pulled up over my head, and _stop stop stop! Please stop!_

I would beg if I were able to speak.

He peels my muddy jeans off of me, slowly edging them inch by inch down my legs.

Still Lucius keeps his eyes off of me. He keeps them fixed on a middle distance.

_Look at me.  
_

Dolohov finally removes my underwear, and his breathing quickens over me. I would heave up the pathetic excuse for a meal they gave me if I could.

I look at Lucius with tears of pure humiliation in my eyes. He won't look at me. Why not?

Why not?

_LOOK AT ME!_

At that moment his eyes fall on me. But he's not looking at my body. He stares straight into my eyes.

_COWARD,_ I scream inwardly, focusing every atom of my being on those two syllables.

His face clouds over. He can hear what I'm thinking. Good. Then perhaps he can feel even the slightest bit as angry as I feel now.

Dolohov steps back from me, and my body shivers as my muscles jolt back into life. I sit up as quickly as I can, pulling my knees up and hugging them to my chest, trying to cover as much of my body as possible.

'So,' Bellatrix turns to Lucius, 'what do we have to get out of her first?'

'Potter's relationship with his remaining family,' he replies, his voice clipped and businesslike. 'So far, she has not told us anything. She claims that he never mentioned them to her.'

'Does she now?' says Bellatrix, sneering at me. 'What methods have you used so far to make her talk?'

'Antonin placed a curse on her,' Lucius says indifferently. 'But it didn't seem to have much effect.'

'Don't tell me, his old favourite!' Bellatrix chuckles, turning to Dolohov. 'You know I admire it, Antonin, but you've got to branch out once in a while-'

'Why branch out, if it works?' Dolohov's voice is sullen. 'She would have spoken soon enough if you hadn't interrupted us.'

'Yes, I'm sure she would have.' Lucius rolls his eyes at Bellatrix as he speaks, and she smiles back at him.

'Lucius, I'm sure that you can do better than Antonin.' She gestures to me. 'Let me see your favoured methods; I might learn a trick or two. Improve my technique, perhaps.'

God almighty. What am I, a lab rat?

Lucius looks down at me, his face completely unreadable.

Will he do it? I thought that perhaps, after what I said yesterday, he might not be able to hurt me today…

How wrong I was. He's calmly stepping towards me, twirling his wand between his fingers.

I curl myself up tighter against the wall, determined to keep my body hidden from him. Not that he's interested in it, anyway.

He stands above me, and taps his wand against his chin as he looks at me, making a show of deciding what method to use.

How could I think that I'd got through to him? How could I be stupid enough to believe that Lucius Malfoy could feel pity for a _Mudblood_ teenager?

He slowly brings his wand down and points it at my face. For a few moments nothing happens, and I wonder whether he really is going to curse me-

Until my eyes begin to burn.

No. It can't, it must be…

I rub my eyes, but it only makes them worse, and I keep rubbing but the burning gets worse, and worse, and pins, needles, hundreds of injections in my eyes, animals clawing them out of their sockets…

I can still _see! _Everything's blurry, but I can still see through the gaps in my fingers. I rub at my eyes desperately, but there's a wetness… tears, or… something else.

I dash the liquid from my eyes, and my fingers come away coated with blood.

I can't take it. I begin to scream in shock as my eyes burn and weep _blood_, and oh my god how can I still see? I feel blood pop out of my eyes and stream down my face and it feels like nails are being screwed into my eyeballs, scraping them out of their sockets, and I know that I can't go on. This could blind me-

'He hates them, alright!' I scream at them. 'He can't stand them… he doesn't even live with them anymore!'

For a few agonising moments, nothing happens.

But then my eyes stop burning.

I breathe heavily, wiping the blood from my face as best as I can.

I can see them all looking in each-other, each of the wearing an expression of disappointment.

_It's ok. They can't use that to hurt anyone. It's ok, it's alright, okay, okay, okay._

I repeat this sorry little mantra in my head to shut out all other thoughts – that I'm weak, disgusting, despicable-

_It's ok, it's alright, okay, okay, okay…_

Dolohov checks the parchment, before turning to the others, who wait for what he says with grim expressions.

'She's telling the truth.'

Lucius and Bellatrix both curl their lips up.

'Damn,' Bellatrix says under her breath.

'It doesn't matter,' says Lucius. 'She named plenty of people he could use instead yesterday. When he needs someone, he will have a huge amount of names to choose from. He will have to strike his family off of his list of possibilities, but I'm sure that will not matter to him.'

The three of them all turn away from each other, back to face me. I grip my knees yet tighter to my chest.

'You are doing well so far, Miss Granger,' says Lucius, his voice calm and almost _pleasant_. 'Do you begin to understand, perhaps, that in this world there are no morals, and no principles - only irrational notions for fools to cling on to?'

I take a deep breath through my nose. I won't give him any more of a victory over me than he already has.

'I'm afraid I don't understand.' My voice is shaking although I attempt to keep it level. 'Perhaps I need a different teacher. Or perhaps you need to revise your methods, _sir_.'

I wait for the stinging magical slap across my face, but it doesn't come. The three of them just stand there, smiling at each other.

'Oh, she's a brave little baby, isn't she?' says Bellatrix.

'You don't know this one like I do, Bella,' Lucius says with a small smile. 'She does so like to keep up a charade of courage. But you should have seen her after a few rounds of pain yesterday; I made her cry like the little girl she is.'

'I'm _not_ a little girl!' I shout, finally losing it. 'I'm not a baby! I'm seventeen years old: I'm as adult as any of you!'

There's a long silence, and then Bellatrix starts to snigger, and before long the three of them are laughing at me.

'SHUT UP!' I scream. 'JUST SHUT UP, SHUT _UP!_'

Their laughter dies away, but the smirks remain on their faces.

'Perhaps she needs a few more lessons in respect, Lucius,' says Dolohov. 'It appears that she still has some learning to do.'

They all watch me as I take some deep breaths in an attempt to get a hold of myself.

'Let's ask her another question,' says Bellatrix, her eyes alight with challenge. 'But let's make it one that she can't possibly answer without a struggle. Let her realise just how quickly she can crack under pressure. I am sure that will knock the arrogance out of her.'

Lucius smiles at her. 'I like that idea, Bella. And I have an idea of what we might ask her. As you know, the Dark Lord has always been unable to touch the boy while he resides in his Aunt's house. But, as the Mudblood has informed us, Potter no longer lives with his aunt. If we could discover where he _is _currently residing, then the Dark Lord will be able to seek him out without having to worry about the protection the boy's mother's blood provides for him.'

Oh… oh god.

Oh _god,_ what have I _done?_

How could I have known that telling them what I did would lead to this?

No. It doesn't matter. It doesn't, because I'm not going to give them this. I won't. Not even if they take me to hell itself.

Lucius turns to me. 'Where is Harry Potter, Mudblood?'

I just stare at him. I can't answer that. He knows that I can't. But he's enjoying this game far too much, now.

'I won't tell you.' I'm saying this more to Lucius than to either of the others. My real battle is against him. It has been ever since he appeared in my bedroom at home. 'You know that I won't. More than that, I _can't _tell you. So you might as well move on to your next question, because you won't get an answer to that out of me.'

All three of them continue to smile, and Lucius smiles the widest.

'We'll see about that,' he says quietly. 'I'm inclined to believe that you'll tell all, soon enough.'

I won't. I'll never tell, never, never, never-

'Shall we use _cruciatus_?' asks Dolohov rolling up his sleeves.

'No,' says Lucius. 'Not yet. I think we can afford a little experimentation, first.'

Experimentation?

My body tenses, preparing itself for what's to come almost wearily.

_How long will it be before you get sick of this game, Hermione?_

I push that thought out of my mind, squash it, kill it, and I focus on what Lucius is going to do to me now in this moment.

But he surprises me. Instead of pointing his wand at me, he flicks it in mid-air beside him, and catches a pretty, ornate silver hand mirror in his hand. He crouches down next to me. I wrap my arms around my legs, pulling them up to my chest. I look at my knees – bruised knees, I realise – steadfastly not looking at him.

'You'll get sick of this in the end, you know,' he murmurs to me. 'Everybody does.'

I press my lips together, and he holds the hand mirror up in front of me.

'Look at yourself, Miss Granger.'

I do as he says. I see my pale, wax-yellow face staring back at me, with eyes that are red-rimmed and surrounded by purple circles. There are traces of blood and dirt smeared all over my face, and my hair is plastered to my head with sweat and grease, only frizzing out into matted ends past chin-level.

'I imagine you've never really liked the way you look, have you?' Lucius asks, his voice cold and cruel. 'I have to say, I don't blame you. You're not exactly a beauty, are you?'

The words hit me like a slap. He thinks I'm hideous.

_Why do you care about how he thinks you look?_

I don't care! He can stick his bloody superior attitude and his arrogance, and his expensive clothes, and… and-

My face.

It's _changing._

My… my _teeth. _My two front teeth are _growing. _Larger, and larger, and I can't keep my lips over them any more, and before I know where I am, _shit,_ I've got an overbite worthy of a beaver.

A whimper escapes my lips, and as it does I feel a shiver run over my head. I instinctively run my hand over it, and my hair is falls away from my head, coming away in my fingers.

I gasp out a dry sob, and I grip at the back of my head, but clumps of brown frizz come loose in my fingers, and before I know where I am I'm almost completely bald.

That's it. I can't hold in anymore. I burst into tears as it all comes screaming to the surface. I cover my eyes with my hands, unable too look at my reflection anymore.

I hear him stand up and walk away from me. I cower naked against the wall, clinging to my bald head with both hands and sobbing through my new teeth.

Bellatrix is laughing. 'That's brilliant! Oh god, that is absolutely priceless!'

I really begin to sob then.

'Miss Granger,' Lucius has to shout to make himself heard over my sobs and Bellatrix's laughter, 'you don't have to stay like that. If you tell me what I… what _we_ want to know, I shall allow your hair to grow back, and your teeth to shrink again. Just say the word.'

'What do you think I am?' I say, struggling to get my words out. My new teeth make me dribble as I try to talk. 'Do you think I care tho much about my l-lookth…'

That's what I try to say, anyway. But I'm obviously not making a very good job of it. Every word trips me up; my teeth making me lisp and slobber.

I can hear Bellatrix and Dolohov screaming with laughter. Fresh tears come to my eyes, and I grip myself around my head, rocking back and forth as I sob; big, hard, painful gulps that hurt my entire body.

I'm a _monster!_

'Oh this is too much!' says Bellatrix, struggling to get her breath through her laughter.

I hate her, I _HATE HER!_

'LEAVE ME ALONE, YOU _BITCH_!' I scream. 'I won't t-tell you where he ith. You w-won't m-make me.'

For a while I keep my hands over my head, trying to get my sobbing under control. It takes me a few moments to realise that they've stopped laughing.

I look up at them. They're all smiling at me.

'Do you think you're being noble, Mudblood?' Lucius asks. 'Do you think you're being strong? Because I don't believe that you are. I think you're faking it. I can see the fear, and the pain written all over that hideous face of yours. Just how much longer can you keep this charade going?'

'A bitch, am I?' asks Bellatrix, something awful glimmering in those black eyes of hers as she smiles at me. 'Oh, believe me, I haven't even started. Stay still, little girl, and I will show you just how much of a bitch I can be.'

She slowly raises her wand.

'_Crucio!_'

Oh sweet _Jesus_, it's worse, SO MUCH WORSE! Kick legs out, kick thin air, chocking, blinding pain, surely about to die-

It leaves me. I collapse onto my side, weeping silently.

'Would you like a go, Antonin?'

'Oh no, _please_!'

They're not listening. They're enjoying themselves too much.

'Crucio!'

Aaaaaaaaaargh, noooo! I can't do this, I can't, can't do this! Acid tears pulled out from shredded brain, what have I done? WHAT DID I DO?

The pain vanishes. I can't stop shaking, and I can't stop crying through my giant, disgusting teeth.

I hear Lucius' voice over the sound of my own sobs.

'I can't allow you two to have all the fun.'

Oh no, what's _wrong _with him?

'Crucio!'

Oh no, OH NO! Worse, worseworse than ever can't breathethinklive… not stopping, never ending, on and on and on, claw through flames, walls of fire, fight the pain, savage beasts, liquid mercury, ice-blue flame – got to finish, goawayaway, let me die-

'LET ME DIE!'

As I feel myself scream out those words, it finishes. It finally finishes.

I'm curled up in a ball, shaking and shaking. I hurt with the shaking.

Breathe. The breathing. I have to keep breathing. In. Out.

Slowly.

In… Out…

I can't even open my eyes.

_Tell them, Hermione. You can't go on like this._

I can! I can go on.

I've got to.

I've _got to_!

'Talk, Miss Granger.' I hear Lucius' voice as though it's a million miles away. 'Talk, and you can end this. It's entirely in your hands.'

'You've said that before,' I murmur. 'But it didn't end. It never ends.'

There's a long silence as I struggle to get my breath back. Sweat pours down my naked back.

'We can carry on like this, if you wish it,' Lucius' voice closer than it was before. 'But I wouldn't advise you to take us down that route. You don't look as if you'll be able to take it.'

I keep my head on the floor, and I pull my answer out of the depths of my rage and my pain.

'I won't tell you this.' I'm almost whispering, but I'm sure that they can hear me. 'I have given you everything, all of the information you have asked me for so far. Let that be enough for you. I won't lead you directly to any of my friends. I'd rather die – you have to understand that.'

There's a long, long silence.

Maybe they'll stop. Maybe they'll realise I'm not going to talk this time, no matter how hard they push me.

Then I feel myself being lifted vertically, up from the safe refuge of the ground into the cold, unforgiving air. For a brief moment I see the three of them looking at me, before I am slammed back into the wall behind me. Lightening bolts shoot through my body and all of the bones in my body feel like they've broken and I'm bruised, I'm bruised all over. I try to move away from the wall, but I'm pinned there by something invisible.

Oh god, I'm _naked!_

But I'm sprawled on the stone and no matter how much I squirm it doesn't change that they can see… everything. Everything about the bald, toothy, bruised and bloody freak.

'Why won't you tell us?' asks Bellatrix. The smile has finally vanished from her face. I don't think she enjoys it when things don't go her way. 'Why? Does it make you feel strong? Does it make you feel powerful; this small, tiny little hold you have over the situation you are in?'

'I think it makes her feel good about herself,' Lucius says to Bellatrix, though he's looking at me. 'If she denies us, then she can allow herself to believe that she is the one who is in the right. She can tell herself that she is a good person for holding out against us, even if she must know that the eventual outcome is… inevitable.'

'It's got nothing to do with my own self-belief!' I say incredulously. 'I'm doing this to protect the people I love! Can't you understand that?'

_Stupid question._

Lucius sneers at me. '_'Love'_ is very overrated, Miss Granger. It is certainly not worth dying for. You will discover that, in time.'

'Don't you love your wife, or your son?' I ask in desperation. 'Wouldn't you die for them, if you had to?'

He turns from me, rolling his eyes at Bellatrix. 'Perhaps we need to take a different approach.'

'What do you mean?' Dolohov asks him.

'I mean that if she won't respond to cruelty, then perhaps she might respond to kindness.'

He walks towards me and pulls the mirror out of his robes, holding it in front of me. Tears cling to my eyelids as I take in the horror of my own reflection.

But then my face changes, once again. My teeth, thank god, reduce in size, gradually shrinking back to their normal state. I gasp in happy relief, and I watch my face return to some semblance of normality.

And almost at the same time, my hair grows again. The baldness completely disappears as my hair grows back, big and bushy around my head. I run my hand over my head, to check that it's not a trick of the mirror. But it's there, it's all there!

But he doesn't stop.

My hair… it continues to change. The colour alters itself subtly; it's chestnut coloured, rather than it's usual mousey brown. And all of the frizziness eases out of it; it falls in beautiful ringlets around my shoulders, cascading in gorgeous, glossy waves.

And… there's something else. I think it's in my face itself.

The change is subtle, but at the same time immense. My bones seem to become _finer_. And my eyes are bigger, and wider, with eyelashes so long I could almost pass for Bambi. The colour comes back in to my cheeks, and my lips become full and perfectly pink.

I look… beautiful. I can't quite describe it. I still look like myself, but then I look completely different. It puts my appearance at the Yule Ball to shame.

'Look what we could do for you.' Lucius says. He sounds… odd. 'With looks like this, who needs love? Grown men would fall at your feet. Wars have been fought over beauty such as this. Your looks could bring you power, riches beyond your wildest dreams.'

I look at him. He's smiling a small smile.

'Love just can't compare to what we could offer you,' he whispers.

I look back in the mirror, at my lovely, beautiful face, and I feel a tiny desire to giggle. I don't know why.

I move my gaze back up to Lucius. His eyelids are heavy as he stares down into my face, and there's still the smallest of small smiles playing about his lips.

It feels… weird.

The spell holding me to the wall is lifted. I almost fall onto the floor, but I manage to regain my footing.

Lucius moves in front of me, and meets my gaze.

'Do we have a deal, Miss Granger?' he asks, raising an eyebrow at me. 'Will you tell us what we want to know, in exchange for looks like this?'

I could almost laugh at the proposition. Lucius might be clever, but he's a sorry judge of character.

I look at my lovely new face in the mirror once more, and I mentally say goodbye to it before I answer him.

'No.'

Almost the instant that word leaves my mouth my hair is frizzy once again, and my face is as plain as it ever was.

But at least I've _got_ my hair again, and at least my teeth are normal.

'Fool,' Lucius mutters, so that only I can hear him.

'I have had ENOUGH of this!' Bellatrix suddenly shouts. I jump, shocked out of Lucius' gaze. I'd almost forgotten she and Dolohov were here.

She storms over to us and grabs me by the hair, pulling me across to the middle of the room. She wrenches my head up by my hair, and speaks into my ear with a quiet hysteria.

'Why? Hmm? Why? Why won't you talk? What do you think to gain from this? Why won't you do as you're told?'

'She's incapable of it, Bella-' Lucius says.

'No-one is incapable of it!' She grabs me harder by the hair.

'_I_ am,' I say, my voice shaky. 'I'm sorry, but I won't do as you tell me. I won't tell you where Harry is.'

'YOU WILL!' she screams suddenly in my ear. 'I WON'T PUT UP WITH THIS…THIS… WILFUL DISOBEDIENCE! I'M _SICK _OF IT, DO YOU HEAR ME?'

I can feel her erratic breathing on her cheek. And now I know that Harry was right – this woman really is insane.

She raises her wand…

'CRUCIO!'

Oh God, not again! I can't _bear_ it! My skin is falling off, bones are on FIRE, acid and electric shock and blades-

She lifts the curse from me, still clinging on to my hair.

'Tell us! TELL US WHERE HE IS!'

Sweat pours down my face. I can taste salt on my lips.

_Tell her Hermione._

No.

I don't answer her. I won't give Harry away.

And so she stands up, and casts Crucio on me again.

And again.

And again.

Again,again,again.

It's never ending, it won't _ever end_! Burning, burning, turn over and burn some more, can't take the fire, the endless fire-

Over and over and overover. Try to keep count, but pain erases the numbers.

Darkness takes over. Fight to the dark. Sweet mercy of unconciousness, but still feel the pain in the dark void of agony. Hear only white noise and my own heartbeat. Floating in vacuum of airless agony.

'Crucio! CRUCIO!'

Feet pounding on the ground, and someone screaming nonsense – meaningless, empty noises of agony. My own screams.

Scream, shake, buck and writhe,_ think I'm going to die_, and again, again, againagain-

Blades, knives, saws.

Fire, acid, ice.

Flesh. Bone. Blood.

Goingtodie _Idon'tcare _Nothingisworse… than… this…

The curse lifts again. I wait in the darkness.

But the pain doesn't return.

I open my eyes, and I see nothing. I push myself up onto my elbows, my stomach turning and squelching and heaving. Burning acid surges up from my gut, grazing my chest as it shoots up to my throat. I heave and heave, and acid and food and water all spill out of my mouth as I vomit all over the floor.

I shake over the pool of my own sick. It's all over my forearms, and bits of food are caught in my hair.

None of them exclaim in disgust, like I expect them to. Lucius simply walks over and points his wand at the pool of vomit. It vanishes into thin air.

Perhaps he's used to this sort of thing by now.

I look up into his face, wishing more than anything to see some pity there.

But there is none. There is nothing. Just blank grey emptiness.

'Will you talk?' he asks me.

I want to. God help me, but I _want _to tell them.

But I_ can't!_

I stay silent, fighting against every instinct I have in order to keep my mouth shut.

He stares at me with eyes of stone.

'Talk, you little bitch!' Bellatrix shouts. I turn my head to see that she's literally being held back by Dolohov.

I look back up at Lucius.

'Don't tell me that you need another dose of pain, Mudblood,' he says, his voice very quiet. 'We won't stop until we get what we want. You know this. What's the point in holding out anymore?'

_Do it do it do it!_

I _won't _do it!

Lucius waits for a few moments, before he points his wand at me again.

'Crucio!'

Explosion of pain, shards of glass, embedded in flesh and muscle and tissue, blood of acid and no, no, it's over, I can't, over, NOW-

'NO!' I scream, and the pain leaves me again.

I look up at Lucius, who is staring at me with no emotion whatsoever, and I know that this is it. I can't go on. I can't take anymore. I've reached my limit.

'Tell me.'

He says it without any doubt of what I'm going to do. He knows he's won.

'He's gone to the Burrow,' I whisper, my eyes filling with tears. 'Ron's house. He's staying with the Weasleys.'

My throat closes with tears, and my nose blocks up, and my eyes burn and I can't say any more. Not that it matters. The damage is done.

_Coward._

SHUT UP SHUT UP!

Dolohov goes to inspect the parchment.

'She's telling the truth.'

I wrap my arms around my head and rock back and forth, wanting to block out everything, wanting it all to go away, to disappear.

'Oh, do stop snivelling,' Lucius drawls. 'It's over now, isn't it?'

I want to die.

I try to get up, but I collapse onto all fours almost as soon as I attempt it.

Why couldn't I be strong? Why couldn't I just hold out?

_They'd have killed you, Hermione._

I don't care! I should have let them do it.

Coward. Weak, feeble, pathetic…

My head is aching so badly it's splitting, I know it.

I want to go home, to my happy family to my own bed and for everything to go away.

I want to wake up from this nightmare.

I hear Lucius' voice.

'We should tell the Dark Lord about this now,' he says to the other two. 'He may still be able to catch Potter at the Weasley's home, if he acts swiftly.'

They don't know where the Burrow is. It'll be alright, they won't be able to find them…

I collapse onto my front.

Lucius laughs. 'Well done, Mudblood.'

But I can see unconsciousness in front of me, and this time it takes me in its hold, and I know nothing but silence and infinite darkness.


	5. Cruel Hope

_'Your eyes are made of glass. They break. You are not brave.  
You are alone like a dog in a kennel. Your hands  
break out in boils. Your arms are cut and bound by bands_

_of wire. Your voice is out there. Your voice is strange.  
There are no prayers here. Here there is no change.' _– Anne Sexton, _Angels Of The Love Affair_

* * *

_Hot sun, cloudless sky… summer. The grounds of Hogwarts, filled with students relaxing in the sunshine. I move through the air, no one sees me, no one knows me, I don't know them – no, I know one of them - I can see Ginny by the lake…_

_But it's not Ginny. This girl has a longer nose and wavier hair. And she's younger – can't be more than fourteen, surely-_

_She takes off her shoes, dipping her feet into the lake._

'_Careful. The squid'll get hold of you.' The red headed boy sitting next to her doesn't look up from the book he's reading when he speaks._

_She throws him a mischievous smile over her shoulder. 'Don't be such an old woman.'_

_The boy smiles, still not looking up from his book. It's 'The Guide to Advanced Trasfiguration'._

_I was making my way through that book, before-_

'_Only you would study the day before school ends,' the girl says, rolling her eyes. Brown eyes. Bigger, darker than Ginny's…_

_He still doesn't look up from his book._ '_Just because you don't care about O.W.L's and N.E.W.T's, doesn't mean that none of us do.'_

_She tosses her hair back. _'_I can think of better ways to occupy my time.' She grins at some passing sixth-year boys, earning an appreciative whistle from one of them._

'_Oi, leave off our sister!'_

_That good natured shout doesn't come from the red-haired boy. It comes from the person sitting just next to him._ _Another boy-  
_

_Fading, fading. Darkness. Silence._

Cold. Ice cold stone, the entire length of my back.

Beads of sweat roll down my face.

I open my eyes. There is no sunlight here.

My tongue comes unstuck from the top of my mouth. I taste stale, bitter vomit.

I roll myself upwards into a sitting position. My head drums with pain. It throbs with a dull, pounding rhythm behind my eyes.

I push my balled up fists into my temples, trying to drive the dream out of my mind. I can't afford to think about Hogwarts. It would only allow me to hope.

Hope is a cruel thing. It makes you believe that things can get better, no matter how bad everything is. I used to believe that.

I'm not sure whether I do now. I don't know what to believe anymore.

'You must have a very clear conscience. You sleep like a baby.'

I start at that voice, and I turn to see Lucius standing on the other side of my cell. He's smirking at me.

_Smirking._

'I was starting to think you might never wake up.'

Would he have felt the tiniest bit guilty if I hadn't?

Instinctively I catch a lock of my hair in between my fingers, just to make sure it's still there. It is, thank god.

It's easier to dwell on that than the pain. I won't try and remember that.

'You're not very talkative today, Mudblood,' he drawls. 'What a change this is. You have seemed most eager to talk, so far.'

Talk. Yes, I've done nothing but talk. Stupid, weak thing that I am, I've given them everything they've asked for.

I feel unclean. I need to wash, to scrape the slimy guilt off of me.

How could I do it? They're all going to die. Ron, Harry, all of the Weasleys, all because of my stupid weakness.

_It might be alright. You didn't give away the Burrow's location._

Hope. That cruel flame lights up in my chest. And again, I recite the mantra key to my sanity – _It's okay, you're alright, it's okay, okay-_

Lucius points his wand at the ground in front of me,making a small loaf of bread and a goblet of water pop up out of thin air.

'Please, eat.'

I reach for the food, my hunger over-riding my pride. It doesn't take me long to finish it. I eat up every last crumb, and I down the water in a matter of seconds, and still I'm so hungry I feel as if I could cry.

When I've finished my tiny excuse for a meal I lift my eyes up to stare at him.

'So you're really not going to talk to me?' he asks eventually. 'How disappointing. I have so enjoyed our little chats-'

'Do you want something?' I ask wearily.

His smile flickers.

I relish that flicker. That's one small amount of control I have over him – I can make him angry. And if I can't eat, then I can feed off that anger, at least.

'The Dark Lord has asked me to take you up to the Great Hall.'

All of my breath seems to leave my body at once.

'Why?' I ask. 'Why does he want to see me? He said he didn't have the time to bother with me-'

'Oh, please don't flatter yourself.' He smirks. 'This meeting isn't to be centered around _you_. No, he just wants you to be there to witness his return, which should be very soon, if all goes to plan.'

'His return?' I ask, my stomach hollow.

'Hmm.' He makes a show of inspecting his nails and polishing them on his robes, creating quite a picture of nonchalance. 'His return from the Weasleys' home.'

What?

My insides shrivel up and turn themselves inside out. I try to speak. I open my mouth and try to push words out, but none will come.

He smiles, disturbing the charade of indifference he is putting up.

'When he discovered that Potter was residing with the Weasleys he decided to pay them a visit.'

'How…' I swallow. 'How does he know where they live?'

'My dear girl, I thought you were supposed to be intelligent. Do you really think that we hadn't troubled to find the location of Harry Potter's best friends during the last two years? Granted, you were easier to track down than Weasley was, what with that ridiculous Muggle 'Phone book' of yours.'

I don't understand…

'If you've always known where the Weasleys live, then why have you left them alone all this time?'

He rolls his eyes. 'Why don't you try and guess? Why don't you try using that incredible brain of yours, for a change?'

I swallow down my indignation and I try to think through the situation logically.

'You wanted to keep them alive in case you might need to use them to get to Harry.'

Lucius' smile widens. 'Very good. I have to say, it's rare, so rare, to find someone of your… background with a bit of basic intelligence.'

'You can't just assume that because someone is muggle-born it automatically makes them stupid-'

'Oh, but it's an assumption that has such a substantial amount of evidence to back it up.' His grin disappears. 'You only have to look at the muggle world to realise their infinite stupidity. Deliberately numbing their minds with that ridiculous 'technology' of theirs; forever pushing the boundaries of the universe to breaking point, never considering that some things are better left alone; so adamant that progress should be made only for its own sake-'

'But you can't halt _progress!_' I retort. 'Things have to change – that's the only way we can evolve as a species.'

He raises his wand, and a sting spread quickly across my cheek. I swallow down the bile that rises in my throat.

'Imbeciles, every one of them,' he goes on, ignoring me completely. 'Unappreciative of culture, and scornful of intelligence. Is it any wonder that freaks like you come into our world, trying to leave your own behind?'

Although I want to reply to him, I clamp my mouth shut, not wanting to provoke him any further. Cowardice it might be, but I'm weary of pain.

He sneers at me, contemptuous of my servility now that he has it, before he continues with his one-sided conversation.

'But I did not come here to debate the matter of your inferiority. Yes, that is the reason why we have kept that pathetic family alive – so that they may be used as a tool in the war against Potter. It was a gamble, I admit, but one that has definitely paid off, don't you think?'

I don't answer. I just breathe deeply, trying to control my heart, which is banging so hard in my chest it feels as if it is about to burst through my ribs.

'But the Dark Lord is not without mercy. He thought it might be, ah… _pleasant_ for you to see your friend one last time before his execution. You will be briefly re-united with Potter when he returns with the Dark Lord, before he is finally disposed of, once and for all.' He pauses, relishing the moment. 'You are allowed to show your gratitude.'

I feel tears rip up from the pit of my stomach to burn under my eyelids. I've killed Harry. I've _killed _him.

And Ron, and Ginny, and the others. What's going to happen to them?

_What do you _think_ is going to happen to them?_

'Why?' Every word is an effort. 'Why would he let me say goodbye to Harry?'

Lucius shrugs. 'I suggested it to him, and he was quite taken with the idea.'

'What on earth would make you think that I would want to see my best friend being murdered?'

'Oh, you misjudge me. I didn't for a moment think that you would _want_ to see it happen.' He smiles that small, twisted smile again. 'That is precisely _why_ I suggested it in the first place.'

'What's the _matter_ with you?' The words explode out of me before I can stop them. I stand up, to face him on his own level. 'How can you… how can you treat another human being like this? You're sick, feeding on suffering-'

My vision goes blurry, the room spins around me and I stagger. I manage to keep myself standing, but only just as everything swings to and fro, and I feel myself swayings-

A grip on my arm steadies me. I lean on that grip as my head clears and I pull myself together.

'You shouldn't over-excite yourself.'

I look up. 'You shouldn't provoke me,' I reply, practically spitting the words at him.

His lip curls up in contempt, and he drops his eyes, allowing them to travel up and down my body in disgust.

It's then that I remember that I'm naked.

I slide out of his grip and down to the floor, huddling in on myself and hugging my knees to my chest. My heart thuds with pure humiliation.

He looks down at me, a muscle going in his jaw, and for a few moments I wonder whether he's going to start shouting at me.

But then he laughs a low, cruel chuckle of mocking.

'I don't know why you're bothering to hide yourself away. Do you really think I'm _interested _in your body?'

Although I try to stop it, I feel a hot blush of humiliation flood across my face.

'I'm sorry to disappoint you, Miss Granger,' he says with a sneer. 'But I'm afraid you're out of luck. I don't touch Mudbloods.'

I'm out of _luck?_

'You _arrogant_-'

'Please!' He holds up his hand. 'Let's not be vulgar.'

He throws the red bundle of cloth he's holding at my feet.

'I'd be most grateful if you'd put those on.'

I pick up the bundle and shake it out. It's a robe made of heavy, blood-red wool.

'Where are my own clothes?'

I don't know why I'm asking. Those clothes I was wearing were filthy. These robes are clean, at least.

But… those clothes were _mine._

'Muggle clothing is not welcome here. You will wear something a little more suitable from now on.'

'Oh, of course,' I mutter. 'Because my own clothes are a little too informal for a _dungeon_.'

A muscle goes in his jaw. It's either a flicker of a smile or a spark of anger.

I _wish_ I could read him. I wish I could have even the smallest hint of what he's thinking.

'Don't be insolent,' he says quietly. 'You know how I dislike it.'

Anger, then. That must have been what it was.

We look at each other for a few moments in silence. His eyes delve into mine, and I try to keep my mind clear. If he can do Legimilency then I'm not going to give him the satisfaction of reading my thoughts. Not without a struggle.

I don't know what he's looking for, anyway. But that intense, searching look in his eyes makes me think that he's probing my mind for _something_.

I wish I knew what.

'Aren't you going to get dressed?' he asks eventually. 'I assume you don't wish to expose your body for any longer than you have to.'

I swallow down the scream of rage that threatens to burst out of me, and I school my voice into one as calm and collected as his own.

'I'll be more than happy to get dressed if you'll just give me some privacy.'

He sneers at my request, as I expect him to. 'I don't think so.'

I really should have known better.

'Why not?'

He tilts his chin up. 'I don't see what gives a Mudblood the right to tell me what to do.'

I almost scream in sheer frustration. I'm so sick of these twisted power games I have to play with him! It always goes the same way - my refusal, the pain, the enforced compliance, a brief respite…

And then yet more pain.

I'm too tired to go through that all over again. Not when I don't have to.

I pull the robes over my head, down onto my body. They're very heavy, and they stick to my sweating skin. But at least I'm dressed again. I have some control back, and some dignity. For that, at least, I am grateful.

Lucius nods at me. 'That wasn't so hard, was it?'

I stand up, finally able to face him without embarrassment again. Yes. I am his equal, and he won't convince me otherwise.

'Aren't you going to give me any shoes?' I ask.

His sneers at my request. 'I really don't think that you should be pushing for more kindness than you deserve.'

Kindness?

He clicks his fingers at me like I'm one of his dogs. 'Come along. The Dark Lord will be back soon, and we don't want to keep him waiting.'

'Oh no, we wouldn't want to upset _Voldemort_, would we?'

Why did I say that? It's only going to piss him off, why did I say it?

His face sets hard in anger. 'You dare to say the Dark Lord's name?'

'Why shouldn't I?' I ask, suddenly not caring about angering him. 'It's just a name. It's not my fault you're such a coward that you can't bring yourself to say it.'

He looks really angry now. That's one way I can read him - I can tell when he's angry. It's the only time his eyes show any warmth.

'Coward,' he murmurs. 'You do like to think of me in that way, don't you? Why? Does it make you feel better about yourself? Is it a boost to your already inflated ego to think me as much of a coward as yourself, after you've betrayed your friends at the drop of a hat?'

'No,' I answer, feeling my face bloom. 'I gave my friends away because I had no choice. At least I _tried_ to keep hold of some measure of honour. But you – what honour or bravery is there in torturing someone who is utterly at your mercy? What bravery is there in doing your dirty work here in the dark, against those who have no way to fight you, rather than face to face with an equal in the outside world?'

He looks at me intently. 'You speak of what you don't understand. Tell me, have you ever forced someone to serve you against their will? Have you ever caused a person so much pain that they beg you to allow them to die? Have you ever killed another?'

'Of course I haven't-'

'Exactly,' he says with satisfaction. 'You speak of bravery and of cowardice, but you will never know what real courage is. To fight against those who attack you, as you do – that is not bravery. Any wild animal would do the same thing – it is basic human instinct, nothing more.'

'It is _not_,' I stammer. 'I could just do whatever you want me to do – that would certainly be easier for me. But I won't, because there's no principle in that route.'

'So you allow yourself to get hurt before you betray your friends. You allow yourself to be forced into betrayal. That is not real bravery, because it is forced bravery. And the outcome remains the same, either way.'

'So what's 'real bravery' then?' I throw the words like knives into his smug, self-satisfied face. 'To kill innocent, defenseless people? To force people to do the evil things you don't have the guts to do yourself? To torture a teenager, just because they're a _Mudblood_?'

He looks at me long and hard. 'No. '_Real bravery_' means to put yourself out there; to push for your ideals, no matter what the cost. I have to commit acts that society sees as distasteful, evil perhaps, in order to serve my cause. To risk cutting yourself off from the entire world, to forget the principles of 'good' and 'evil' so that your purpose may be served; that takes real courage.'

For a short while I can't speak. Words turn themselves over in my mind, but I can't find any that will voice my thoughts adequately.

Eventually, I find my voice again.

'You don't have to do it like that. There are other ways-'

'Oh really?' he interrupts me. 'Other ways of stamping out vermin such as yourself? No, I'm afraid there aren't. For some reason, people equate it to murder in this day and age.'

'Of course they do! We aren't _vermin!_ We're human beings, just like you are!'

'If you say so, _Mudblood_.'

'What you do isn't bravery. If you weren't such a coward, you would refuse your master. You would refuse to commit such atrocities in his name.'

'Why should I refuse him?' he asks. 'You seem to be labouring under the misapprehension that what I do presents me with some kind of moral dilemma. Well I should tell you, Miss Granger, that I don't have any such dilemma to contend with. Whatever I have to do, I do for the cause, and for that I am prepared to go as far as I possibly can, no matter what the price.'

'But why?' I ask in sheer desperation.

'Because the end justifies the means!' he replies, his voice rising in exasperation.

'You've said that to me before.' I look at him very closely, wanting to see him react in some way. 'I wonder - do you really believe it?'

'I don't have time for this!' he snaps.

Perhaps things are getting a little too personal for him.

He grabs me by the arm before dragging me violently out of the room. I allow him to pull me down the corridor, too tired and too ill to put up any sort of a fight.

* * *

We arrive outside of the huge stone door to the great hall, the skin on my arm burning where he grips me. We haven't spoken to each other since we left my cell_._

The sound of raised voices filters out from behind the stone door.

_Let it have gone wrong. Please, let them have failed. Let everyone be alright…_

I look up at Lucius, who frowns before pushing the door open and pulling me into the room with him.

The hall is filled with people in black robes. Almost all of them look as if they've been in a fight. They're all argueing with each other, shouting and screaming at one another in rage and confusion.

Something must have gone wrong!

The only one of them not talking is Voldemort, who stands in the middle of the room, his face twisted in an inhuman rage.

I involuntarily flinch at the sight of him. Lucius looks down at me for a second, as if he felt me do it.

How does he feel when he sees his master? Do you grow used to that face with time, or do you become so accustomed that you learn to swallow down your fear?

Voldemort brings his spindly hands up to grip at his temples, before throwing his head back and shouting.

'SILENCE!'

That scream knocks all of my breath out of me.

All of the Death-Eaters shut up instantly. My heart beats so hard I can feel it in my ears.

How can they revolve their lives around the mood of this one man?

_You have to do the same now. You have no choice but to do so._

'You stupid, useless people!' he shouts. 'Is it not enough that you have failed me, without proceeding to insult me by blaming each other?Every last one of you is to blame!'

The sudden rush of hope makes me go dizzy. Something _must _have gone wrong.

Voldemort looks over at us. 'Well don't just stand there!' he hisses at Lucius.

Lucius grabs me under the arm, almost lifting me off my feet as he drags me towards Voldemort.

'My Lord?' Lucius asks. 'Did everything go to plan?'

'No, it did not,' Voldemort answers shortly. 'We managed to get ourselves into the Weasleys' home, surely enough. But Potter was not there, as you told me he would be.'

He wasn't there?

Lucius sucks in his breath next to me, but I hardly hear him.

Harry's safe! He's _safe!_

But what about the others? What about the people who _were_ there? I won't let myself hope, not until I know that everyone's alright.

'My Lord, I had no idea that the information I provided you with was faulty,' Lucius says swiftly, his voice shaking. 'The girl assured me that what she told me was true, and the quill did not contradict her-'

'I do not have time for excuses.' Voldemort raises a hand. 'I do not blame you, but I would ask you to see to it that the girl is punished for this.'

Oh, for god's sake, why? I've no idea why he wasn't there!

'We forced our way into the house, but they must have seen us coming.'

They?

Oh, god. Oh no…

Voldemort turns away from us, and walks around the hall as he speaks. 'As we got into the house, everyone present was either Apparating out of there or using the fireplace to escape via the Floo network.'

He pauses for a moment, putting his hand to his forehead.

'It took us only a short while to realise that Potter was not there.' Voldemort looks back at Lucius, who tenses beside me. 'A few Aurors remained to try and hold us off while the others escaped. I searched around for the girl, the youngest Weasley, thinking that perhaps we could make the best of a bad job. But I could not find her. She must have escaped before we entered the building.'

I sigh with relief as quietly as I can.

'However,' Voldemort adds, cutting my relief short. 'The trip was not entirely in vain. We managed to capture someone whom I think will prove very useful, if I am right in my assumption.'

No-

I can't breathe. Vomit burns the back of my throat.

Who have they caught?

Voldemort turns to a large group of Death-Eaters standing at the back of the hall and clicks his fingers at them. 'Bring him forward.'

A couple of men break away from behind the crowd of Death-Eaters, dragging a limp body between them. A body with a blaze of red hair.

Oh no. Oh no no nonono, it _can't_ be!

'Revive him,' Voldemort says coldly.

I watch, forgetting even to breathe, as a Death Eater points his wand at the boy and… and…

I don't know why I'm bothering to hope. It's him. I'd know him anywhere.

'_Innerverate._'

There's a groan, and then his head moves slowly upwards, his eyes drowsily flickering as they begin to focus on Voldemort.

That's it. No hoping otherwise now.

'Ron!'

At the sound of my voice he turns to face me.

'You!' he breathes incredulously, his eyes wide.

I don't stop to think. I wrench myself from Lucius' grip and I run over to Ron, throwing my arms around his neck when I reach him. The Death-Eaters holding him let him go, and the pair of us fall to the floor.

'I thought you were dead!' he whispers hoarsely.

I lean back, running my hands over his face. I wipe the trickle of blood away from the corner of his mouth, and he gasps as my fingertip clumsily catches the deep gash on his cheek.

'Oh god, I'm sorry!' I say hurriedly.

'M'alright,' he mumbles. 'S'not your fault. They-'

'Shhh. Save your strength.'

I bring his head back to my shoulder, rocking back and forth while holding him to me. The tears run thick and fast down my face, running into his red hair. He shouldn't be here, he can't be here –

But still… I thought I'd never see Ron's face again.

I sigh and roll my head upwards, gulping, trying to get some control back. My gaze is snagged by Lucius, who is just… watching us.

Voldemort turns to Lucius, who turns away from me, robbing me of the chance to decipher his expression.

'It is a touching reunion, is it not?' Voldemort asks.

Lucius inclines his head. 'As you say, my Lord.'

Voldemort raises his eyebrows. 'Well, whatever you think of it, you cannot deny his importance to our cause. Now we have not one, but both of Potter's closest friends under our control. The advantage this gives us is… monumental.'

I grip Ron tighter to me. I want to block everything else out. I just want to keep this moment – I want to stay here with Ron, together like this for long enough to forget everything.

'If I may be permitted to ask, how did you manage to get hold of the boy?' Lucius' voice pierces through the shield I have built around myself.

'It was all too easy,' Voldemort replies. 'He charged at us almost as soon as we entered the house, screaming like a madman. I assume he wished to avenge his little friend here.'

Lucius breathes a small laugh.

'I stunned him before he could cause himself any damage,' Voldemort goes on. 'But I had noted his hair colour and his age, and came to the conclusion that he was probably Ronald Weasley. It was no easy task getting him out of the house – the remaining adults tried to stop us. Two of them, I am pleased to say, died in the attempt. One red-haired old fool who I assume was the boy's father was severely wounded, but I think he may live.'

Ron's head jerks upwards. 'If he dies…' His breathing is heavy and ragged. 'If he dies, I swear I'll-'

'You'll what?' Lucius cuts across him. 'What will you do, you stupid boy?'

Ron pulls himself out of my grasp and stands up. I get up quickly as he stumbles, propping him up as best as I can. Voldemort laughs quietly, while Lucius simply sneers.

'SHUT UP!' Ron shouts, gripping on to my arm. 'If my dad dies, I'll rip you apart, I swear I will!'

Voldemort stops laughing, but carries on smiling that horrible smile of his. Lucius' face darkens, and I feel a familiar sense of dread gripping me around the heart.

'You'll speak when spoken to, boy,' Lucius says quietly before lowering his wand at Ron. '_Crucio!'_

Ron falls to the floor, screaming in pain. He bucks and writhes, bawling, screaming, kicking, and screaming again-

I fall to the ground. If I could only hold him – do anything to help him-

But how can I help him when I know, I _know_ that right now he'd welcome death if only it would take the pain awa_y?_

'Stop it!' I scream at Lucius. '_Stop_ it! He doesn't deserve this! Please…'

'_Enough_!' Voldemort's shout cuts through my screams.

'As you wish, my Lord.' Lucius raises his wand.

_Thank god! Thank-you, thank-you._

I reach out to the trembling, whimpering heap that my friend has become, folding my arms around him, murmuring stupid, trite words of comfort.

'It's alright, it's ok, it'll be alright, I promise you.'

'If anyone is going to administer punishment to the boy for speaking out of turn in front of me it shall be me, Lucius.' Voldemort's voice is lightly reprimanding.

'I am sorry, my lord. I simply couldn't stand his impudence a minute longer.'

'Hmm.' Voldemort frowns at Lucius before turning back to me and Ron. 'You needn't worry, boy. Your father's injuries were perfectly survivable. We would not want to dispose of him – not while we have his son in our power. Think of the use we could get out of this situation.'

Ron lifts his head. His whole body is shaking.

'What do you mean?' he asks weakly.

Voldemort laughs while Lucius rolls his eyes.

I know what Voldemort means. I can guess, anyway. They could blackmail the Weasleys into doing anything if they've got Ron in their power. Who knows what a parent would do to keep their child alive and safe?

'We do not have Potter,' is all Voldemort says, 'but we _can_ use this pair to considerable advantage. But first things first..._'_

He turns to the rest of the room.

'We will need to act swiftly.' Voldemort's voice is cold, authoritative, and perfectly calm. 'Nott, contact our spies at the Ministry and tell them what has happened. I need them to get to Carrow before he is questioned and to Obliviate him, or to kill him if necessary.'

One of the Death-Eaters standing in front of Voldemort bows low to his master before turning and leaving the hall.

Voldemort looks down at me and Ron, who sucks in his breath next to me.

I remember how I felt when I was first confronted with Voldemort. Like I'd never seen anything worse than that face. It doesn't seem to have quite the same effect on me anymore – whether it's because I know what to expect now, or… I don't know.

'Lucius, I believe that you enlisted Bella and Antonin to help you in your work with the Mudblood yesterday.'

'That I did, my Lord,' Lucius replies swiftly.

'What-' Ron starts to talk, but I grip at his hand, shaking my head at his questioning look.

'In that case, I believe it's probably best that I give the three of you charge over the pair of them,' Voldemort continues. 'You shall be responsible for the information I want out of them, and any use we will put them to afterwards. Your first task is to carry on with what you have already started - I want all of the information I asked for, every little detail. Do I make myself clear?'

'Certainly, my Lord.'

Lucius bows to Voldemort, before clicking at several other Death-Eaters standing behind us and making a gesture at Ron. I try to keep a grip on Ron's hand as he's dragged from the ground, but we are ripped apart from each other as they pull him towards the door.

It's like a piece of me has been torn away.

'Don't worry!' I say quickly. 'It's going to be fine.'

The words sound hollow – like a badly rehearsed line in a play.

Before he can do more than nod the Death Eaters drag him from the room.

An iron grip on my arm.

I hadn't even noticed him come over.

I look up at Lucius, who meets my gaze with no emotion whatsoever before dragging me out of the room and back to my cell.


	6. Persuasion

'_What hands are here? Ha! They pluck out mine eyes. Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this blood clean from my hand?' _- William Shakespeare, _Macbeth_

* * *

My brain pounds inside my skull. The pain throbs behind my eyes. I can barely see because of this bloody headache that just won't go away.

_Where's Ron? Where is he?_

Nothing can make this headache stop. Not deep breathing, nor rubbing my temples, nor splashing my face with water whenever I've been taken for a toilet break. Nothing.

_What are they doing to him? _

So now I'm pacing up and down my cell, trying in vain to clear my head.

I only wish I knew how long it's been since I was brought back to my cell. There's no way of telling. No-one will ever tell me what time it is. I just have to guess.

It feels like I've been here a lifetime. And all I can think about is what they might be doing to Ron.

I curl my fists up into balls, digging my nails in to the soft skin in the middle of my palm.

Maybe they won't hurt him. Perhaps they only reserve torture for Mud… for Muggle-borns. Lucius certainly hinted that was the case. Perhaps they'll take Ron's Pure Blood into account and use Veritaserum instead.

But then why did Lucius… _smile_ like that as Ron screamed under the cruciatus curse?

He hates Ron. I have no idea why, but he hates him. Probably almost as much as he hates me for being a Muggle-born, if I judged his expression correctly as he came face-to-face with him.

I ball my hands up so tightly that my fingernails pop through the skin on my palms. Blood collects in the creases of my hands.

I've brought my friend here. I've led my best friend to pain, and misery.

And death.

I can't bear it.

I spin myself around, slamming my fist into the nearest wall. I scrape it along the rough stone, tearing at my knuckles, peeling the skin away from the bones.

I stop when I come to the end of the wall, leaning against the cold stone and pressing my forehead onto it. Sweat rolls down my face, clamping my hair to my skin.

But the pain in my hand doesn't dull the unbearable pounding pain in my head.

A loud click, and then a creak.

I turn around, though I already know who it is.

His appearance, as always, is immaculate. He doesn't have a single hair out of place. His robes are exquisite in quality – black and emerald green, with fine silver embroidery.

Huh.

He runs his eyes over me with his lip curled up. 'My dear girl, you really should try to take better care of yourself.' A small smile flickers onto his face. 'You look terrible.'

I scowl at him. 'Well, you might look terrible too, if you had to live in conditions like these.'

He grips me by the chin, looking down into my face.

'Are you ill?' he asks. 'You certainly look as if you might be.'

'What do _you_ care?' I ask, meeting his eyes with a look like flint.

He looks at me closely, his face devoid of expression. 'I can't afford to have an ill prisoner,' he says eventually.

'Oh, but you can afford to torture one, can you?' I wrench my face out of his grip, furious at his artificial compassion.

He brings his wand out of his robes, and an electric bolt shoots through me, gone as soon as it arrives. I gasp; a sharp intake of breath taken through gritted teeth.

'I have told you time and time again not to be insolent,' he says quietly, his lips barely moving. 'Why won't you learn to do as you're told?'

There are a million answers I could give to that question, but I don't say anything. I want to, but I don't.

We just stare long and hard at each-other, and eventually I work up the nerve to speak.

'Where's Ron? What have you done to him?'

A tiny smile curves his lips. 'Ah yes, young Mr Weasley. If I might say so, you seem rather taken with the boy.'

My face boils as I try to keep my mind blank. I'm not going to give him anything through Legimilency.

'I have to confess, I felt quite nauseous at the sight of your reunion. Your basic intelligence, I would have thought, would prevent you from simpering like a love-struck adolescent when your very _life _hangs in the balance.'

I don't know what he's getting at. I don't know whether I _want_ to know what he's getting at. All I know is that this conversation is embarrassing me.

'Where. Is. Ron?' I exaggerate every syllable, no longer caring if he decides to punish me for my so-called 'insolence'.

He raises his eyebrows, but he doesn't curse me, like I half-expect him to. 'Don't upset yourself. I assure you, you shall be reunited with your young man soon enough.' He twirls his wand leisurely between his fingers. 'Even as we speak, he is being brought to your cell. I have special plans for the boy.'

'No, please.' I grip onto the front of his robes. 'Don't hurt him. Hurt _me_ if you must, but don't hurt him. He hasn't done anything, he doesn't deserve-'

He wrenches his robes violently out of my grip. 'Kindly don't dirty my robes with your filthy hands. They were clean on this morning.'

I let the insult go. 'Please don't torture him-'

'I'm sorry, but I think it's a little too late for that.' He really does smile now – a smile that reaches his eyes. 'We been working on him overnight, pumping him for information. I am pleased to say that he cracked quickly. They all crack.'

I feel… sick.

He's still smiling.

'We asked him for everything that you could not provide for us – all about Potter's activities since you went missing, and where he was planning to go in order to rescue you. Not only that, but we asked him to tell us everything he could about Potter himself – all of his hopes, his dreams, his fears, and his secrets. Things that only a _best _friend would know.'

I take a short intake of breath at that. How the hell does _Lucius Malfoy_ know that I've always felt a little isolated from my friends? How does he know how much I envied Harry and Ron for their closeness, and how I've always known them to be closer to each other than they were to me?

He must have really done his research on me before he brought me here.

'Oh, young Ronald Weasley has proved himself to be a veritable gold-mine of information,' he continues. 'But I believe that we have all that we shall ever need from him – the rest I want to come from you. And I think that today you shall show only a very small amount of resistance to my will.'

I exhale disbelievingly. 'Really?'

He nods. 'Oh yes, _really._ You see, in order to achieve a swift victory, one must have complete insight into the mindset of one's enemy. And so I have taken great pains to understand your mentality. And I can see that it can be used to considerable advantage if we have someone you _love_ under our control.'

'I don't know what you mean-'

'Oh, I think you do,' he says quietly. 'But if you want me to make it crystal clear for you, I have no objections. I just feel that you might be insulting your own intelligence by making me spell it out for you.'

He begins to circle me, talking in a low, smug monologue.

'You like to hold out for as long as you can against the pain inflicted on you. You see it as bravery; you see it as courage. Stupidity, some might call it. You hold out for as long as you can, until you can take no more and you have to give in to my will.'

I press my lips together.

'Your irritating ideology and your insufferable idea of 'bravery' made me consider what might be enough to push you into enacting some willing obedience. And I started to wonder - how long would you be able to hold out if someone you loved were suffering in exchange for your silence?'

My heart stops beating for a second as he confirms my fears.

He comes to a stop in front of me. Almost touching me, but not quite.

'Perhaps then you shall discover that bravery is meaningless. You might finally realise that the entire ideology you have built your life around is a lie.' He reaches out and runs a thumb down my cheek. 'Or perhaps you can prove me wrong. If you are truly brave, then you will be able to watch your friend suffer for your ridiculous notion of 'what's right'. It's a fascinating predicament for you, isn't it? I confess, I shall be most interested to see how it will play out.'

His thumb rests on my chin.

'You say that you understand me,' I say quietly. 'Well, I wish I could say the same about _you._ I wish I could _understand_ how you could enjoy something so horrible. How would you feel if someone tortured your wife in front of you to get you to give information that you wanted to protect? What would you do if someone were to torture Draco to get to you?'

A short, sharp slap.

His features are harsh now. 'Do not speak of my wife, Mudblood. Nor of my son. They do not concern you-'

'Oh no, I mustn't mention your family. That would make everything too _personal_, wouldn't it?'

'And what do you mean by that?'

I don't know why, but I want to push it further. I want him to realise that I know him for what he is.

'Whenever things get a little personal, you automatically get violent with me before it can go any further. Whenever I mention your family, or when I say your name, or when I try to get through to any trace of humanity you might have, you cut things off before I can delve any deeper.'

'Really?' he asks, his face giving nothing away. 'Well, seeing as you seem so determined to psycho-analyse me, perhaps you might like to tell me more.'

He's goading me. He's luring me into going further.

Well, if it's an excuse he wants, then it's an excuse he'll get.

'If you establish a personal bond with somebody, you won't be able to do your duty properly because you'll be emotionally involved. That's why you always look distant when you torture me - it's not because you're an emotionless monster.'

He smirks at that. 'And how do you know that I'm not an 'emotionless monster'? You don't even know me-'

'I'm starting to,' I fire back. 'And I know that you're a human being just like I am, although you might not act like it. And so I've come to the only conclusion left – that you look distant when you torture me because you're determined that you won't become emotionally involved.'

'Is that so?' He almost looks amused. Almost. 'Pray, continue.'

I take a deep breath to steel my nerves. 'You might as well give up on that idea, _Lucius_. You might lash out at me, and curse me without cause, but those aren't the actions of an indifferent person.'

'But what I want to know is: why do you hate me?' I'm deliberately provoking him now, pushing him and pushing him. 'We'd barely spoken to each other before I came here. Alright, so I don't get on with your son, but apart from that you have no reason to dislike me. I was at the Ministry that night last year, but if you'd bothered asking me you'd know that I didn't actually _want_ to be there, and it wasn't _my_ fault you were captured.'

'I don't care about you being at the Ministry,' he snaps. 'You were unconscious for most of the battle – if I'm completely honest, I barely noticed your presence. And I certainly don't care about your petty arguments with my son. Schoolyard fights are far beneath my concern.'

'Then why?' I know the answer already, of course I do, but I want to push this as far as I can, as hard as I can. 'Why do you hate me?'

'I have told you, time and time again! How many more times do I have to tell you? You shouldn't be in our world. You and your kind are nothing more than throwbacks, and yet you move into _my_ world, polluting it, taking it over and making it your own.'

Now I really am curious. 'Is that what it is?' I ask quietly. 'Is that what it all boils down to - fear?'

His eyes narrow. 'What?'

'You heard me,' I snap. 'Does all of your hate, all of your prejudice just boil down to a fear of losing your position in society? Are you just worried that the Muggle-borns will take it away from you?'

'Why on Earth would that be my reason for hating you?' His voice is raised, and his face has lost all its colour. 'How could I be worried about the possibility of _you_ taking my position away from me? Look at yourself! A plain, untrained, teenage Mudblood, with no money, no connections worth knowing, with only a bit of basic intelligence to brag of. How could you _possibly_ take anything away from me? Do you know just how much I am worth? Are you aware of the power I yield in the circles I mix in?'

'You're right,' I retort. 'I could never take your position away from you, because you haven't had to work for what you have. Normal people have to work hard for money, and privilege, and position. But all you ever had to do was take the trouble to be _born._'

The look of absolute and pure loathing on his face actually terrifies me, and I shut myself up before I can go any further.

'And to be _born _is more than you have ever deserved,' he says.

He flicks his wand at me, and… nails. Nails, that's what it is, scraping down, down my face, arms, chestlegsknees, go, got to stop, make it stop, _claws scratch_, claw at my face, make it stop_stopplease_… knives driven in my stomach, _twisting_, rub frantically at my arms, oh oh ohohohohoh-

It… disappears.

I open my eyes, dropping my arms so that I can look at them…

They're covered with strips of red. Strips left not by the curse, I'm sure of it, but by my own fingernails…

'When will you ever learn your place?' I look up to see his face is so full of loathing it almost makes me wince. 'You arrogant, pathetic little girl, when will you _ever_ learn?'

The door bangs open.

Dolohov and Bellatrix drag Ron into the room. He's conscious this time, though his face is so white it's almost green, and he's grimacing in pain.

'You two took your time.' Lucius doesn't bother to disguise the irritation in his voice.

'Well, he did insist upon putting up a fight,' Bellatrix says as she and Dolohov throw Ron to the ground. He falls on his side, grunting in pain. Bellatrix throws him a contemptuous sneer as she goes to lock the cell door. 'It took us some time to subdue him.'

Ron gasps weakly, gripping his stomach and grimacing with pain.

'What have you done to him?' I take rapid steps towards Ron. 'You _bastards_, what have you _done?_'

An invisible pair of hooks wrench me up from under my arms and I'm thrown back, back, and I'm slammed into the wall. My whole body screams out in pain and fireworks burst behind my eyelids-

But I don't fall forwards. I stay where I am, some invisible bond pinning me to the wall.

'You will stay there, Mudblood,' Lucius mutters as Bellatrix laughs at me from the other side of the room. 'I am sick of your revolting displays of affection for the boy. You are here for one thing, and one thing only, is that clear?'

'Please-'

'No.' He cuts my plea in half. 'I have decided that you shall not offer your friend any comfort, or any help. We wouldn't want to make the situation too _personal_, would we?

For a moment hatred takes hold of me so violently that I can't speak.

I've never hated anyone as much as I hate Lucius Malfoy.

'So, what's first up today?' Dolohov asks as he sets up the levitating quill and parchment in the corner of the room. He brushes his greasy hair back, and I can't help but notice the vivid bruise that circles his left eye.

Ron must have put up a better fight than I did.

'First, I want you to give the boy this potion.' Lucius pulls a small, black bottle out of his robes. Dolohov holds his hands out eagerly, but Lucius passes him over and hand the potion to Bellatrix.

'What is it?' Bellatrix asks.

'I brewed it up last night. It's an ingenious little potion, although I say so myself. For as long as it holds effect, he will still be able to speak, to scream, but he will be unable to answer any questions that are not aimed directly at him.'

Dolohov grins. 'So you want _her_ to answer our questions, not him?'

Lucius inclines his head. 'That is my intention, yes. I expect her, at least, to provide us with some intelligent answers - something which I feel may be unrealistic to expect from Weasley.'

I stare at Lucius' face as it smiles at me, and I want nothing more than to tear it to pieces, to rip it to shreds.

'Help me, Antonin,' Bellatrix says as she rolls up her sleeves and pulls the stopper out of the bottle. A small wisp of smoke escapes from the rim as the stopper leaves it with a hollow _pop._

Dolohov roughly pulls Ron up onto his knees, wrenching his head back. Ron begins to struggle wildly, pushing and pulling against Dolohov's grip.

'Get off me, you sick b-'

Bellatrix shoots a jet-black shot of light at his stomach as he speaks and he doubles over, howling in pain. I struggle with all my might against my invisible bonds, but I just can't shift them.

Lucius is smirking at me.

Bellatrix moves to stand over Ron as Dolohov tries to wrench his mouth open. Ron turns to me, shouting wildly.

'Don't, Hermione-'

Dolohov rips his jaw open and Bellatrix holds the neck of the bottle over his open mouth. Thick, glooping, dark green liquid falls out of the bottle and into his open mouth, dribbling down his throat. Ron gags and chokes as the liquid spills out over his chin and streams out through his nose.

'Stop it!' I scream. 'Leave him alone! He's going to choke!'

'Now now,' Lucius drawls. 'He's a brave boy, I'm sure he can take it.'

Ron collapses forward, heaving and coughing, drawing huge rasping breaths as the stuff runs down his chin.

_I'm so sorry, Ron, I'm so sorry-_

'Are you ready to answer our questions, Miss Granger?'

I don't answer Lucius. I just look at Ron as he lies on the floor, gradually getting his breath back and wiping his chin.

An invisible grip wrenches my head up to face the cold, pale face of the man I hate more than anything else in the world.

'I want you to tell me… to tell _us_ exactly where Potter was planning on going when you last saw him.'

Oh, why? Why does it have to be this? Why can't it be _anything_ else?

'Don't tell them, Hermione!' Ron shouts. 'Don't tell them _anything_, do you hear?'

Lucius smirks. 'No need to shout, Weasley.'

'_Shut it, Malfoy_!' Ron bellows at him, staggering as he tries to pull himself to his feet.

'How _dare _you speak to him like that?' Bellatrix raises her wand furiously. '_Crucio!_'

And then there are screams. Horrible, awful screams flying round the room, burning my ears as Ron heaves and writhes on the ground.

'STOP IT!' I scream. 'PLEASE, STOP IT!'

'Enough, Bella.'

At Lucius' command Bellatrix raises her wand and Ron collapses on the ground, whimpering, and I can't move to help him_._

Lucius is watching me. 'Tell us what we want to know.'

I try not to panic. I take a deep breath. I can't lose my head. I've got to be logical.

Okay. So if I refuse to tell them, they'll torture Ron again. And I can't let that happen, I just can't.

But if I tell them where Harry was planning on going, they may be able to find him, and if they find him they'll kill him, there's no doubt about that. And then not only will I have sent my best friend to his death, but the war will be lost. Harry's the _chosen one_, isn't he?

I look down at Ron, who's pulling himself shakily up to his feet.

'Don't do it Hermione,' he says quietly. 'Whatever they do to me I can put up with it, just don't give Harry away-'

His words are cut off as Dolohov grabs him by the front of his robes and punches him in the jaw. 'We didn't ask you to speak, you little shit-'

'Put him down.'

Dolohov obeys Lucius' command and throws Ron to the floor. I look down at my friend, who shakes his head at me silently.

'Think about it, Miss Granger.' Lucius is walking over to me, slowly. 'Just think it through. Surely young Ronald has suffered enough already.' He reaches me, leaning in to whisper in my ear. 'If you answer my question, then we shall spare him any more agony.'

Ron or Harry?

That's the choice I have been presented with. I have to choose between my two best friends.

'Do you want to see him in pain?' Lucius whispers in my ear. 'Because he will suffer; oh, he will suffer greatly if you refuse us.'

I open my eyes. Ron is lying on the ground, rubbing at his stomach and breathing heavily.

This is so difficult. The most difficult thing I've ever had to do.

'Come _on,_ Mudblood!' Bellatrix yells with impatience. Stray sparks fly out of the end of her wand.

Lucius grips me by the chin and wrenches my face up to look at him. 'You fool,' he mutters, so low that I don't think the others will be able to hear him. 'Don't you see that you have the opportunity to save someone you _love_?' He wrenches my head back to face Ron. 'This boy means the world to you, more so than Potter, I would say. You could save him, and so easily.'

I don't know what to _do_!

Ron looks at me, his eyes burning with conviction. 'Don't worry about me, Hermione. I can handle anything these bastards throw at me.'

Lucius finally loses patience. 'You will remember the little spell I cast on your hand, Mudblood? The one that burned your skin? The one that made it bubble with heat?'

My stomach shrivels up with horror. 'No, please, stop-'

He's not listening to me. He turns to Bellatrix. 'Where do you think?'

She grins at her brother in law. 'Perhaps... his arms?'

Lucius smirks at her, and points his wand at Ron's shoulder.

'No.' Bellatrix holds Ron's arm out, turning it over and running her finger down the pale skin along the inner side of it. 'The skin is more sensitive along here.'

'You always know just how things should be done, Bella,' Lucius murmurs, and he runs the back of his finger over her cheek, from temple to chin. She grins back at him before turning to Dolohov.

'Give me a hand here, will you?'

Both she and Dolohov hold Ron down as they rip his t-shirt from his body. His stomach is covered with large bruises, so severe that they're almost black in colour, outlined with purple and red.

'Get off of me, you evil-'

Lucius cuts Ron's words off with a slap across the face.

I don't know what to do, _what shall I do_?

'Please, he hasn't done anything, _please_!'

Lucius ignores me and presses his wand into the underside of Ron's arm – the soft fleshy bit that rubs against his torso.

'Don't say anything, Hermione!' Ron yells, but then the words are swallowed up by his screams as his skin burns under the touch of the wand. The sound rocks through me, ripping me apart, wrenching through my heart, my head, my ears.

I can't let it go on, I can't.

'Stop it _stop it!_ I'll tell you!'

But they don't stop.

Lucius trails his wand down, bringing it slowly down to Ron's palm, leaving a burning, bubbling, shiny red trail in its wake. Ron's face contorts with pain and tears roll down his cheeks. I can't stand it. I do all that I can think of to help him.

I give them what they want – God help me, but I tell them what they want to know. I tell them that Harry was planning to stay at the Burrow for Bill and Fleur's wedding, and that he was then planning to go to Godric's Hollow to visit his parents' graves.

'And where then?' Bellatrix asks, raising her voice so that she can make her voice heard over Ron's screams. 'Where does he plan to go afterwards?'

I hesitate then, because I know what's at stake with this question. It's not just Harry's safety, but the safety of the entire world-

'I don't know.'

It's true. Technically it's true. I know _what _he was going to do, but I have absolutely no idea _where_ he would have to go to destroy the Horcruxes.

Lucius pulls his wand away from Ron's skin as Dolohov lets go of Ron to inspect the parchment. 'She's telling the truth.'

I stop the sigh of relief that threatens to escape from my lips. That quill has one fault, then. It can't detect when I'm hiding something that I haven't been directly asked for.

Thank God for that.

But I've given Harry away again.

_It might be alright. He probably won't go to Godric's Hollow now, and he certainly won't be going back to the Burrow, will he? It's okay, alright, you're okay, okay-_

'Antonin, get hold of him again,' Lucius says as he moves his wand to Ron's other arm.

'What are you doing?' I ask desperately. 'I've told you where Harry's going! _What are you doing?_'

He turns to me, smiling. 'What does it _look_ like I'm doing?'

'But I've given you what you want!'

'Yes I know.' He grins. 'It's a purely aesthetic decision. I can't bear lack of symmetry.'

He presses his wand to Ron's skin, to the supple, vulnerable skin on the underside of his arm, dragging it down to a backdrop of screams.

'STOP IT!' I scream. 'WHAT DO YOU _WANT _FROM ME? JUST _STOP!_'

But I'm useless. I can only scream.

I can't take it. I close my eyes.

But the screams go on, wailing like a banshee, over, and over, over over overoverover…

Silence. Then wet, gulping noises.

I open my eyes.

Ron lies on the ground, two great red wells running in tracks down the inside of his arms.

Lucius twirls his wand between his fingers, smiling down at his handiwork with immense satisfaction.

'Will you heal him?' I don't know why I'm asking. I don't know why I'm expecting _kindness _from him, of all things. 'You healed me the other day.'

Bellatrix looks at him incredulously. 'What on earth would you _heal _her for? We're only going to dispose of her, anyway-'

Lucius raises his hand, and she shuts her mouth like a trap, throwing a glance at me through narrowed eyes. Lucius frowns at her before he replies to me.

'No, I don't think I will.'

'You BASTARD!' Tears rip up from my gut and burst hot out of my eyes and course down my cheeks. 'You're nothing but a sick, disgusting COWARD!'

A huge invisible fist punches me in the face. My head reels sideways with the blow.

But it wasn't Lucius that time.

Bellatrix moves over to me, her face white and furious. 'You impertinent little _bitch_!'

She spits at me. It lands on my cheek, dripping down my face, slowly.

She raises her wand, but all of a sudden Ron's got his arms around Bellatrix's neck, pulling her backwards and away from me. 'Don't you fucking hurt her, you _bitch_-'

It's a losing battle from the outset, though. Dolohov waves his wand at Ron, who flies backwards and collapses onto the floor.

'You little _shit!_' Dolohov shouts. 'You dare to raise your hand to her? You're not worth shit on her shoe, do you hear me? _Crucio!'_

Ron screams and yells, bucking in agony, oh god, how long can it go on for?

'_No_!' I scream. 'Please_ stop it, _please!'

'That's enough, Antonin.'

Dolohov looks for a moment as if he might refuse Lucius' curt command, but he raises his wand, and Ron stops screaming and lies curled up on the floor, twitching and shivering.

'Do either of you _really_ think that you have any control over the situation you are in?' Bellatrix is slightly breathless after her struggle with Ron, but her eyes are alight and feverish. 'Do you think to overpower us? Do you think to escape us?' She lets out a shout of laughter again. 'It's pathetic. We _will_ get what we want, no matter how long it takes – you cannot escape that. And when we have what we want, you will die. Slowly. Painfully. While the pair of you scream for mercy.'

I_ want_ to scream. I want to cry and bleed. Anything rather than face up to the truth of her words.

'Tell us about the Order, Miss Granger,' Lucius says, his voice quite calm. 'Co-operate, and perhaps your eventual deaths will prove... less painful than they might otherwise.'

I feel it all crashing down on me, becoming too much to bear. I can't stand the loudness of my mind.

'Are you going to answer us, Mudblood?' Lucius asks, watching me intently.

I look at Ron, who shakes on the floor, tears squeezing out from under his eyelids. I look from Lucius, to Bellatrix, to Dolohov, then back to Lucius again.

'How do you people sleep at night?' I ask quietly.

Lucius smiles. 'Quite easily, I assure you.'

I open and close my mouth several times like a dumb goldfish, until Lucius eventually loses patience with me.

'I'm sorry to do this to you, Mudblood,' he says, with no remorse in his voice whatsoever. 'But I'm afraid that you leave me no choice. I don't have the time for hesitation.'

He raises his wand, but not at Ron.

'_Imperio!_'

_Thought gone. Feeling gone. Oh, it's wonderful, wonderful here- _

_Light, and warm. Free of the wall. Oh, that's so lovely of you! You'd do anything for me, wouldn't you?_

'_And you must return the favour, isn't that right?'_

_Smile. Nod. Anything for you._

'_Then take this knife.'_

_The knife. Light in my hand – not heavy at all. Just keep me like this forever, and I'll do anything and everything to please you, oh, I promise I will-_

_A hand. Unrecognisable. Not my own._

'_Cut off the thumb.'_

-no-

'_Cut off the thumb.'_

A thumb. Whose thumb?

_So warm, so comfortable- _

'Hermione? Please, Hermione, try and fight it, please-'

_Warm hand wipes the intruding voice away._

'_Cut off the thumb.'_

_Yes, oh yes. _

Blade in flesh, sinks in, meets resistance, pushes further-

_I'll do anything for that voice, anything…_

Tearing flesh, bubbling blood.

_Anything…_

The warmth seeps away from me, filtered with screams, and pain, and blood.

Not my blood. Not my pain.

Not my screams.

Oh… oh god-

Ron is screaming. And cradling his hand. His bloody, bloody hand-

I look down at myself.

Blood. Blood everywhere, sticky and dark on my hands, and on the floor.

Oh my god! Ohmygodohmygodohmygod-

A thumb, _his _thumb, lying on the floor, surrounded by blood, severed off.

_Oh my god!_

More screams. My screams, his screams. Too much noise and blood, oh sweet god, this is hell.

We are in hell. Lucius has dragged us there.

I tell them everything. I scream it at them. I tell them everything, and anything. I tell them everything I know about the Order, about members of the Order, about what I saw of their activities. I give them names, addresses, personality traits of the members I know of, and names of any possible friends, family members and even casual acquaintances those members might have. I tell them everything, everything and anything to stop Ron's pain.

After a time, when I literally can't think of anything else to tell them, Lucius holds up his hand to me.

'That will do.'

I gulp for breath, wiping my wet lips.

Dolohov runs his eyes over the parchment. 'She's told the truth.'

Lucius gives a small, chilly smile. 'Good. We can move on, then.'

'No, wait!' I crawl over to Lucius, forgetting my pride, which never mattered anyway. 'Please, seal his thumb back on. I know that it can be done, if you don't leave it too long. I'll do anything, please-'

'_Anything_, you say?' Dolohov asks from behind me, laughing. But Lucius cuts him short.

'Please, Antonin, don't lower the tone.' He looks down at me as I feel tears burn my eyes. Looks at me for far too long.

Eventually he moves away from me and over to Ron, who cowers and moans on the ground.

'Pick up his thumb and hold it on to the join.'

He's talking to me. It takes me a second to realise that.

But… oh, I can't touch it…

I gag, swallowing down vomit as I pick up the cold, fleshy, inanimate _object_ that is Ron's thumb and I hold it to the severed hole on his hand_._

Lucius flicks his eyes up towards me and points his wand at the join. A warm, golden light spears out to it, fixing the skin back together, sealing it seamlessly.

Ron is suddenly quiet, looking at his thumb incredulously as the tears dry on his face.

I lean forward and kiss his cheek, holding his face in my bloodied hands.

'I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to, I didn't know-'

He looks at me, and grips me tightly by the hand, nodding at me with his eyes blank in his face. He says nothing.

_I'm so sorry._

I hear Lucius' light laughter. 'I hope you're proud of your young man, Mudblood,' he sneers. 'I hope that you're pleased with the snivelling little wretch that can't even endure five minutes of pain without bawling like a baby. You should be well matched, the pair of you.'

Ron's head snaps up as he shakes with anger next to me.

'I'd like to see you last five minutes under what we've both been through, you piece of _shit!_'

Bellatrix lunges towards him, but Lucius holds his hand out to stop her without looking away from us. And he's smirking.

'I've been through just as much as you have, if not more,' he says quietly, and I can see the ghost of a shadow crossing his eyes. 'Oh yes, contrary to popular opinion we don't treat our prisoners any worse than how your side treat the prisoners in Azkaban.'

No. He… he's lying. The Aurors wouldn't… the Order wouldn't let it happen.

'You don't believe me, do you, Mudblood? Well, let me tell you, you have absolutely no idea what the new guards of Azkaban do to their prisoners in their spare time. They had to do _something_ to make their prisoners feel as hopeless as the Dementors made them feel.'

'You're lying,' I whisper.

'I'm afraid he's not.' Dolohov steps forward. 'I was there too, thanks to you two and your little friends. I saw it all. Believe me, what we're putting you through is a picnic compared to what they did to _me _during my first night in prison.'

But… but they wouldn't… would they?

Ron recovers before I do. 'Even if they did treat you as badly as you've treated us, you people deserve it, all of it, for everything you've done. You fucking deserved _all_ of it!'

He's gone too far. I can see it in their faces.

Lucius turns to Dolohov. 'After you, Antonin.'

Dolohov advances on Ron, his wand raised. 'You're in trouble now, boy.'

* * *

It's… over.

It's been hours, but it's over.

Lucius locks the door after Bellatrix and Dolohov drag Ron out of the room, then he turns to me with a small smile.

'Well, this evening has certainly proved… illuminating, wouldn't you agree? It has taken some time, I grant you, but it's over now. I have what I wanted.'

I sit still, perfectly still on the floor. Still as stone, while the stench of blood fills my nostrils and spreads along my tongue.

Blood. Ron's blood is still on my hands.

_Please stop, pleaseplease stop… Tell us about Dumbledore, Mudblood… Don't hurt him, I beg you… Then tell us about Nymphadora Tonks… No, wait, you promised you wouldn't hurt him… I lied, Miss Granger… _

I rub my hand together, smearing the blood over my palms. It won't come off. It'll never come off.

'Tell me, my _brave _little Mudblood, did you learn something about courage this evening?'

I've never felt so angry in my entire life. It bubbles and steams like a spring deep inside of me. I shake as I get to my feet, clenching my jaw as my head pounds so hard it's going to burst.

'Fuck you.' The tight little words barely escape my throat.

He smiles all the wider, feeding off of my rage. He moves closer, backing me into the wall. 'I don't want to be too optimistic, but it seems to me that you might have finally learned the virtue of obedience. After all, you proved most eager to do as you're told today. It seems that even _you_ have a price, even for what you hoped you would never have to sell.'

I can't bear it. I want to smash up every inch of his pale, smug face. I want to cut him deep, to make him bleed, to make him scream…

To make him feel just as bad as I do.

'I can scarcely believe how one could do such a thing.' He continues to smile. 'To your own best friend; the boy you _love_, no less. It would have broken your heart, I am sure, should you have seen the look of betrayal on his face as you smiled and plunged the knife into his hand.'

Anger explodes within me, shatters me into a million pieces.

'You… you sick, twisted… you, _you_…'

I can barely get my words out.

He chuckles.

That's it.

I slap him hard across the face.

A bloodied handprint appears on his cheek, red against the white.

He turns his head for a moment, inhaling sharply through his nose. Then he brings back his own hand, and he slaps me across the face, once, twice, three times. My head snaps back with each blow until eventually he relents, and I slump back against the wall.

'You made me do it!' I sob. 'You _made _me – I didn't want to! Do you know what I'd do to take it back?'

He wrenches my head back by my hair. 'How _dare_ you?' he whispers. 'You _dare_ to raise a hand to _me_?'

'WHY NOT?' I scream. 'You've hurt me, god knows! Why can't I hurt you back?'

He raises his wand to my face, snarling with fury. I pull my face back, squinting in preparation for what he's about to do.

But nothing happens. He just breathes a tiny, mirthless laugh, running his wand down my cheek. 'Oh, look at you!' he murmurs. 'So… weak.'

'I'm not weak-'

'Oh no?' he asks. 'Look at how quickly you have given me everything I want. Just a little pain, a little suffering, and you sing like a bird. You can't even resist the Imperius curse. What kind of strength is that? God only knows why you were put into Gryffindor – the house of the _brave_, isn't it?'

Those words… they strike a chord deep inside of me, because really… well, I shouldn't be in Gryffindor. I was only put in there because I _wanted_ to be there. The Sorting Hat itself said so.

_I think you're definitely a Ravenclaw. Such a brain – such logic! No? You want to be in Gryffindor? Well, only if you're sure…_

He's looking deep into my eyes, and I try to shut down my thoughts. I won't let him see that, I won't let him know…

Too late. He smiles again, and for a moment my head pounds so badly that his face blurs in front of me, becoming a smear of pink, yellow, black and red, red, red-

'Is that true?' His voice brings me back from wherever I've gone, and my sight clears to see his grinning face. 'Ravenclaw? No wonder you're so weak. All that house knows is thought and logic.'

'I'm a _Gryffindor_!' I say. 'The hat put me in there; it wouldn't have done if that isn't where I belong-'

'But it would, Mudblood. You know that. It would, because of the absurd notion that it is our _choices _that make us what we are. Well, you'd best abandon _that_ idea. There are some things you just can't change.'

'That's not true!' The words ring hollow. I don't really believe them any more.

He looks at me intently for a while, the anger having left his face. 'Do you genuinely believe that? Draco told me all about your ridiculous crusade for Elf rights. Oh, we did laugh about that. Do you think to change the world for the better, little Mudblood?'

I don't answer him. He knows too much about me already. It's like he wants to know everything about me – he wants to explore my stomach, guts, and soul.

I won't expose my insides to him.

'Are we really so different, you and I?' he asks, his voice quiet and still. 'We both want to change the world. I want to rid the magical world of Muggles, and I go to extreme lengths to achieve what I want. You – you want Wizarding society to free the elves. You think, perhaps, to make the world a better place by doing so. What measures did you go to in order to achieve your goal?'

He delves into my mind again.

Oh, I don't care. What does it matter what he finds out, anyway? Nothing matters, not after what I did to Ron today.

'Well, I never thought I would see such cruelty from _you_, of all people!' His entire face lights up with laughter. 'What a hypocrite you are, lecturing _me_ on brutality! Leaving house elves clothes.' He tuts at me disapprovingly. 'House elves don't _want _freedom. You knew that. And yet you attempted to force it upon them.'

'But they _need_ freedom!' I say desperately. 'They're brainwashed into thinking that they don't by tyrants like you! Every creature has the right to be free – they'll realise that in the end.'

But I'm talking to myself. He isn't listening to me. His eyes rest intently on my face, and he frowns. 'We aren't so different, after all. Both of us are prepared to resort to cruelty to achieve our ends. The only difference is that I, at least, am prepared to admit it.'

That's it for me, I'm afraid.

'I'm not like you! I'm _not_!'

My words come out in wails as sobs rock through me. I hate myself for it, and I try to stop, but I just can't.

'No, you're right.' He lets go of me and throws me to the floor. 'We're not alike at all. I would never embarrass myself like you have in front of your enemies. It's a shame, really. I might almost have respect for you if it were not for your damned weakness.'

He turns away from me and leaves the room, shutting the door quietly behind him.


	7. Vengeance

_'My afflictions have conquered me; I now am well aware what crimes I venture on: but rage, the cause of woes most grievous to the human race, over my better reason hath prevailed.' - _Euripides, _Medea_

_Our company of Players are pleased to present, for your delectation and delight, a Tragedy in four acts. _

* * *

I haven't moved from my bed since my last toilet break.

I've counted the stones making up the ceiling. 152 black stones, all subtly different in texture or shape.

152 stones.

Or maybe I counted it wrong. Perhaps I could count them again, just to make sure…

I shift my body. The tiny movement makes the straw under my back poke through my robe and scrape against my skin.

I want to go back to the bathroom. I need to use the sink. I need to wash my hands again, not that it will do any good. Last time I was there I held my bloody hands under the taps until the water ran clean, but it hasn't made the smell go away. The stench of blood coats my fingers like sticky residue.

Sweat runs down my face, running over my lips and onto my tongue. It soaks my robes, clamping them to my skin.

I'd love a long hot bath. To submerge myself into boiling water, to put my head under and block everything out. To lie there in complete silence, and for the world to be blotted out as the water clamps over my ears.

* * *

It's been ages since they left; since Bellatrix and Dolohov took Ron away and Lucius stormed out of the room calling me pathetic. It must have been more than a day. Maybe two, maybe three.

I really have no idea.

I would think that they were leaving me to die in here, if not for the fact that they have carried on bringing me food and taking me down to the toilets every so often.

Maybe it's another mind-game they're playing with me. Giving me too much time to think: too much time to turn everything over and over in my mind.

I bet it's Lucius' idea.

He's a very clever man. He knows that physical pain isn't the only way you can make a person suffer.

_-It would have broken your heart, I am sure, should you have seen the look of betrayal on his face as you smiled and plunged the knife into his hand-_

I pummel my hands into my eyes, pushing my fists into the sockets.

I want to scream.

He was right. I'm so weak, so pathetic.

_You're a coward. Just like him._

I'm _nothing_ like him.

But it's too late. The words he branded on my mind are still sizzling.

_We're not so different, you and I… both of us are cruel-_

I'm _not_ cruel! House elves deserve freedom, just like anybody else. I was only trying to help them.

But… people kept on telling me it was a cruel thing to do. Even Hagrid said that to free them would amount to cruelty.

And I wouldn't listen to him. I just carried on doing what I thought was right, even though everyone said I was in the wrong.

That's another thing I have in common with-

I slam my head back down on the ground. I put my hands over my eyes, and let silent tears roll out of the corners of my eyes.

I'm nothing like him.

* * *

Footsteps echo down the corridor, breaking the endless crawl of measureless time.

'Get them out of here.' I don't recognize the voice. 'Take them to the warehouse. We'll stay there tonight and then we'll move on in the morning. I have a hiding place in the north which the Dark Lord says we can use.'

There's a creak as a cell door opens. My eyes flicker automatically to my own door, but it remains shut.

I listen carefully, and I'm rewarded by a soft scraping sound as something heavy is dragged along the corridor outside.

'Please... my family... _please..._'

The second voice is only a faint moan.

The dragging goes on, getting fainter and fainter as it moves along the corridor until finally, once again, there is silence.

I stay still on my pile of straw, my eyes fixed on the doorway.

What was that all about?

Actually, I don't care. I'm too tired.

I need some sleep…

I should be so lucky. More voices emerge from the corridor.

'…our responsibility. I don't like it any more than you do, but we'll have to take them with us.'

I know that voice. It's been my constant companion, for the past few days.

He's not alone. There's someone else with him.

'The little brats are more trouble than they're worth.' I know that voice, too. The pair of them stop outside my door. 'Do you know where you're going?'

'I've been married to your sister for years: of course I know where I'm going. I've had to visit the place more times than I care to recount.'

'You'll have to be careful. They're looking for her, and you're hardly unknown to them. They might follow you if they're waiting outside-'

'All the better to stop wasting time here, then. I'll take the girl.'

A pause. 'I'll come with you-'

'There is no need. You and Antonin can take the boy. If we split up, the Dark Lord will still have one of them in our grasp if one half of our party is caught.'

'Good idea,' Bellatrix agrees. 'I'll need to find Antonin before setting off, but I should catch up with you soon enough.' There's a short pause before she speaks again in a much softer voice. 'Good luck, brother.'

Lucius gives a light chuckle. 'Brother, indeed.' There's another short pause. 'I shall see you soon, hopefully.'

There's the sound of footsteps dying away down the corridor, and then the door to my cell clicks and swings open.

His eyes fall immediately on me as he steps into the room.

He clicks his fingers at me. 'You, up.'

I ignore the swell of anger in my chest. I'm too tired to refuse him.

I roll myself up from the ground, somehow managing to get to my feet, but as soon as I do my head reels and spins, and my knees collapse under me and I fall forwards on all fours.

He grips my chin, wrenching my head up.

'You look absolutely terrible,' he says bluntly. 'I thought you were looking bad when I last saw you, but if anything you look even worse now. What's wrong with you?'

He's talking to me. I just manage to register that fact.

His face wavers and blurs before me, turning into just shapes and colours.

He gives me a small slap across the face. Not with malice, I don't think. Just to sharpen my focus.

'I'm still not well.'

He rolls his eyes and he lets go of my chin to pull a small drinking flask out of his robes. It's the same one he taunted me with when I first came here.

'Here,' he hands it to me. 'Drink this.'

I reach out for the bottle, bring it to my lips and pour its contents down my throat. I don't care if there's anything other than water in here. I'm past caring. I drink down everything in the bottle until there's nothing left.

I lower the bottle, licking my lips.

His face is tight with impatience as he watches me. 'Is that any better?'

I try to get myself up, but I just fall down again, shaking my head. 'I can't,' I whisper.

He stands up. 'Damn you,' he mutters. 'Why do you insist on making everything so difficult?'

He does a sort of spinning motion with his wand, causing thick ropes to emerge from the end of it. He pulls me up into a sitting position before grabbing hold of my wrists and tying them together.

'What are you doing?'

He doesn't look at me, but carries on pulling hard at the ropes. 'We have a journey to make, and I don't trust you not to embark on a foolish escape attempt.'

He pulls the rope so tight it feels like my blood's being cut off. Then he ties up my ankles, and as soon as he has deemed me to be securely helpless he picks me up in his arms.

When he first captured me he needed to curse me to make me accept this. Now I'm so tired that I don't care. I'm just grateful that I don't have to walk anywhere.

'What's going on?' I ask. 'Where are we going?'

'I have told you,' he replies as he carries me out of my cell and into the corridor, 'we are leaving this place and going elsewhere.'

'But where?'

'What does it matter _where?_' he snaps, moving swiftly down the corridor. 'Surely you have not become so attached to your cell that you shall miss it all that much?'

'No, I just-'

'You just thought you'd waste my time by asking foolish questions.' We reach the stairs at the end of the corridor and begin to ascend them. 'You'll discover where we're going soon enough.'

We reach the top of the stairs and move swiftly along the corridor of the Death-Eater's living quarters. All around us there are others rushing about in apparent panic, collecting their belongings and running towards the great hall.

'What's going on?' I ask again, but my throat is so dry that my voice comes out as little more than a whisper.

I don't think he heard me. Either that or he's ignoring me.

We stop for a moment outside a door, which Lucius opens with his wand before summoning a small but full bag towards us. He manages to catch hold of it without letting go of me before heading off to the main Hall.

We eventually make our way through the various doors and passageways that lead to the shack we entered through so, so long ago, and then we emerge into the open air.

The trees are dense above my head, and Lucius has to cast Lumos to be able to see properly. The air has that slightly damp, cold smell of after dark.

He puts me on the ground in a sitting position and crouches down next to me, holding out his hand.

'Your hand, Miss Granger.'

My mind flashes back to that night in my bedroom, that night when he turned up and everything changed. _'Your hand, Miss Granger_…'

I kick out at him clumsily with my bound legs, but he just grabs me by the hair.

'Don't bother trying to escape,' he whispers. 'Where do you think you would go? Look at you – ill, weak, and tied up. How far do you expect to get?'

I try to twist away from him but he just grabs me by the arm as his grip on my hair tightens, pulling me closer to him.

'No.' He doesn't even raise his voice. 'Don't even _think _about it. Even if you _were_ to escape, I would make sure that you lived to regret it.'

'How?' I ask. 'How could I possibly regret getting away from _you_?'

His lips curl up into a cold, twisted smile. 'You seem to forget that I have your friend under my control.' He smiles all the wider as my face drains of colour. 'Oh yes, I know now what currency to use in order to buy your obedience. You _will_ comply with my wishes, or Ronald Weasley will be forced to endure sufferings beyond human comprehension.'

'Now,' he holds his hand out once again, 'take my hand and come with me. Try doing as you're told without being forced into it, for once.'

Reluctantly, I drag my arms up, stretching out the fingers of one of my hands awkwardly.

He smiles. 'Good. Perhaps there's hope for you yet.'

He slowly, deliberately slides his hand into mine, wrapping his fingers around my own. I shiver involuntarily at his touch, and the last thing I see before we Apparate together is his pale face sneering back at me.

We emerge from the tiny, airless space Apparation presses you into, next to a huge, black lake. Mist sits over it in a thick blanket, lit up silver by the moonlight.

He strides to the water-bed, shakes back the sleeve of his robe and pulls his wand out of his pocket. He slashes it across his wrist, ripping a huge gash the skin, then he shakes his wrist over the water, allowing his blood to drip into it. He seals up the gash and then he stands back, calling over the water in a clear, loud voice.

'I am one of the ancient and most noble House of Black.' His voice bounces back to us in echoes. 'I require passage over the lake.'

Almost as soon as he's finished speaking he turns and bends down to pick me up once again.

'You're not a Black,' I say weakly, wanting to straighten my thoughts out.

'How astute you are, Mudblood. Your intelligence will never cease to amaze me.'

'Alright.' I sigh. 'I was only wondering…'

I let the words trail off; let them disappear into the air.

'I may not be a Black, but I married one,' he says after a short silence. 'In marrying Nar… my wife, I became a part of her family. My blood effectively became that of hers.'

Pure-bloods fanatics. Their twisted logic will never make sense to me.

'Ah, here we are.'

A small boat emerges from the mist. The blue flamed torch at its bow casts an eerie, flickering light over the water's surface. It silently comes to a stop in front of us, bumping silently on the water-bank.

He puts me and the bag he's carrying into the boat and gets in himself behind me, pushing the boat away from the bank with his foot. I turn around, watching the gap between boat and land grow wider, and wider.

His arm winds around my waist.

I jolt in shock. 'What are you doing?'

He looks down at me with no expression at all. 'This lake is known amongst local Muggles as being extremely dangerous,' he murmurs. 'Many of them have died while swimming in the water, or trying to sail across it. The few that have survived any contact with it lost their minds soon afterwards. In view of this fact, I would advise you to let me hold on to you.'

He tightens his grip around my waist, and although I dislike it, I don't fight against him. I know that he wouldn't be holding on to me if he didn't feel like he had to.

But still… I don't like it.

I can feel his breath gently brush against the back of my neck.

It's making me uncomfortable.

We float quietly across the water, the boat creating ripples across the still, glassy surface of the lake. The moonlight adds shards of silver to the deep blue.

'You don't need to hold on to me,' I say quietly. 'There's nothing here.'

I look up at him, but he continues to look out over the water. 'They might, if we are lucky, remain dormant due to my presence in the boat.'

'But why-'

'Shh,' he says sharply. 'It would not be wise for you to alert them to your existence.'

'I don't get it-'

'Damn you, can you for once do as you're told?' he hisses, struggling to keep his voice down. 'I'm not saying this for my own benefit. If you know what's good for you, you'll keep your damn mouth closed!'

I clamp my lips together at that, knowing that there's no point in pushing it. Not if something's worrying him.

I let my eyes float over the lake. Occasionally I think I can see strange glints of light, or odd little movements of something indistinguishable under the dark face of the water.

A horrible thought comes to me; a memory of Harry telling me about the cave by the sea, the water teeming with the dead…

'There aren't Inferi in here, are there?' I whisper.

'No,' he murmurs back, 'but there _are_ beings that are just as deadly when provoked. And they see your kind as provocation. So will you kindly _keep your voice down_?'

My kind? What does he mean by 'my kind'?

_What do you think he means?_

I suppose…

Mudbloods. That's what 'my kind' is to him.

But they don't only go for Mudbloods, but muggles too… Oh _god!_

_It'll be okay. They haven't attacked you yet, and you've got Lucius with you-_

So I'm looking to _Lucius_ for protection now?

The thought turns my entire world upside-down, just for a second.

Eventually the mist clears, revealing a long stone wall in the side of a tall hill. There's a small opening in the wall, like a low cave, and the boat sails quietly towards it…

The boat begins to rock.

The arm around my waist tightens.

I look at the water. There are long fingered, greenish arms reaching out to us, grabbing at the boat, moving it from side to side.

Voices. Strange, musical, high-pitched voices.

'The Mudblood!'

'A Muggle tries to cross the water!'

'Stop the Muggle.'

Lucius' grip around my waist tightens, bringing me so close to him that his cheek presses in to the side of my head.

'Hold on to me: hold on for all you're worth. Do not let go, do you understand?'

I look up at him. His face is taut with worry. I nod, and hook my fingers around the folds of his robes.

The boat starts to rock violently, swaying too and fro as the hands grab at the sides of it, pushing, pulling-

'Damn it,' he mutters as he reaches for his wand. He points it at the head of the boat.

'_Immobilus!_'

The boat comes to a complete halt just at the mouth of the cave. It's no longer rocking, but it's no longer sailing forward, either.

I lean forwards to look over the side, to see if those… _things_ are still there, but he holds onto me tightly.

'Stay still,' he says. 'Do not move unless it's necessary, do you hear?'

Almost as soon as he says that the strange hands come out of the water, up and into the boat-.

'_Stupefy_!'

The red light shoots from Lucius' wand towards the arms, but it just runs through them as if they were as insubstantial as the air.

'_Stupefy!_' he calls out again. '_Avada Kedavra! Stupefy! Immobilus!'_

But the spells just rush through the hands, not even touching them as they grab at me, gripping at my clothes, my hair, my body, pulling me out of the boat. Lucius tries to keep his grip on me, and I try to hold on to him but I - I _can't_. The hands are strong, too strong as they pull at me, wrenching me out of the boat and _shit! _I'm going to go over-

'HOLD ON!' he shouts.

But I can't, I can't, too strong-

'The muggle cannot cross.' The musical voices ring with laughter.

They wrench me out of his grip. I struggle against them, trying to make a grab for Lucius' arms, his robes, the boat, but I _can't_, and I go over the edge-

I hit the water with a stinging 'smack'.

I bob like a cork before I sink down, the water closing over my head.

It presses down at me from all sides, blocking out everything – sound, pain, the world. It's cool on my hot body. Oh, so beautifully cold. And silent.

The cool hands pull me down through the water, and finally I can put faces to the hands. Greenish in colour, with blank, white eyes, pointed teeth which are bared in a smile as they laugh, dragging me down into the cold, dark deep…

Yes. I don't want to struggle. I want to go with them. I don't want to think, to feel, to know. I just want to disappear into this cool abyss, oh yes, take me with you.

But then some thick, red liquid swirls around me, growing in size as it filters through the water, and almost as soon as it does the creatures disperse, sinking away from me, letting me go. Their voices grow fainter as they all disappear, and I am left alone, floating in the cold water, my hair and my robes swirling around me.

Air… I need – oh, my lungs, they _hurt- _can't breathe, can't see-

I don't want to die.

An iron band of strength clamps around my waist, and I'm pulled up, up through the water which swirls and presses down on me…

I break through the surface, my lungs filling quickly with air, so quickly that it hurts.

I fall into the boat, coughing up more water than I've ever drank in my life and trying to breathe in as much of the night air as possible.

'Why didn't you hold on?'

'I tried!' I gasp, wheezing the words out between coughs.

'Not hard enough!' His fingers bite into my wet arms, and he's wet too, his blonde hair dripping around his shoulders. His eyes are blazing with rage.

'You stupid girl!' He keeps his grip on me, looking so closely into my face that my vision almost goes double. 'Why didn't you do as you were told?'

I breathe heavily, watching the water run down his face.

He breaks the eye contact between us, and runs his hand over his head.

He turns to the front of the boat again. '_Finite Incantatem._'

At his words, the boat sails forwards once again.

'Where have they gone?' I ask quietly.

'I spilt my blood into the water.' He pulls his wand out of his robes and points it at his wand at his wrist, and a golden glow flows out of his wand and onto the large cut gouged into his skin, which heals up quickly.

'How would that help me?' I ask.

'Those creatures go for Mudbloods,' he replies. 'I thought that spilling my blood in the water might banish them. It's just as well that my impulse proved to be correct.'

I don't say anything. I just sit there, shivering as the boat floats yet deeper into the cave.

He dries himself off with his wand, and he frowns at me for a second before he does the same for me.

We sail on in silence through the now still water. No more of those… _things_ bother us, although occasionally I think I can still see one of their faces in the water, looming up to the surface before disappearing again.

I try to keep my eyes off the lake, looking only ahead out into the blackness in front of us.

Eventually the ceiling of the cave opens up to reveal a huge underground cavern. The ceiling is so high I can't really make it out, and the walls are lined with blue flaming torches, giving the place a cold, eerie light.

And in the middle of this cave there's a huge… I could call it a house, but that wouldn't be right. It's almost like a castle. It looks like a picture from a book I had when I was a little girl – a picture of the castle of the Dark Fairie queen. Both terrifying and beautiful.

The boat lands on a bank with a gentle bump. He steps out of the boat, picking up first his belongings, and then me. He carries me up to the door of the house, which he opens to reveal only darkness inside.

'_Lumos!_'

Light filters into the pitch black of the building, but I can't really make out much of what's around us. Lucius seems to know where he's going, however. He carries me through what seems to be several corridors.

Eventually we go through a door into a room that I can't see properly through the darkness. He puts me down on something soft, before turning back to the doorway we entered through.

'_Colloportus!_'

The door seals itself with a squelching noise.

I'm trapped, once again, in a room with a man that hates me.

Same situation, different surroundings.

'_Nox._'

The room plunges into darkness as he mutters the incantation. I sit still, not really knowing what to do.

And then a dark, almost orange light fills the room.

I'm sitting on a chaise lounge in a very dingy, very dank, and very creepy Victorian parlour with no windows and one door.

It's the sort of place they talk about in children's horror stories; the ones that would terrify me and stop me from sleeping for weeks when I was little.

And there are… _things_ in this place. Nasty things, dotted around like decorations; on the fireplace, on the floor, on top of little tables. Skulls, dead animals still strangely preserved, strange dusty bottles which, I am sure, do not contain anything benign.

Lucius comes over to me and flicks his wand at my wrists and at my ankles. The ropes tying them together unravel themselves, falling to the floor.

I rub at my wrists, trying to get the sensation back into them.

'I can only apologize for the state of this place,' he says, his lip curling up as he sweeps his gaze over the room. 'It hasn't been visited in years, and... well, as you may be aware, there's a strain of madness running through the Black family.'

'Yes, well, inbreeding will do that to you,' I mutter.

His mouth twitches into what could almost be a smile. Almost.

'You're still unwell?'

I nod.

He grips hold of my chin and looks into my face, turning it from side to side. 'Come on then, what's the matter with you?'

'What do you care?' I pull my face out of his grip.

'What use is a prisoner who can barely walk to me?' he says impatiently. 'I have plans for you, and they require your good health.'

I should have known that he's not about to help me because he feels _sorry_ for me.

But then, what's the point in fighting against it? If he's going to cure me then I'm not about to complain.

I roll off my symptoms, and he nods before turning away, going to conjure up a fire in the grate.

I don't watch him. I can't really see what he's doing, anyway. He's got his back to me.

I look around the room, and the disgusting things which it holds. It's almost like Grimmauld Place, but it's worse because at least Grimmauld Place had friends of mine in it, brightening the place up and trying to make it inhabitable. When was the last time anyone cleared this place up?

Wait a minute… what the hell is _that?_

I almost gag as I push myself back across the chair, away from the huge, black, dead snake at the foot of the sofa…

There's a knife planted in its back.

I look over at him. He's still got his back to me.

I edge forwards towards the snake again, and I try not to shudder as I grab it's back, easing the knife slowly out of it. Black blood silently oozes out of the wound, but thankfully it doesn't get on my hands.

I back away again when I'm finished, edging towards the other end of the chair. It's not a huge knife, but then it's not small either, and the blade looks sharp enough.

I slip the knife into a pocket in my robes.

I don't know what I'm going to do, but I'll have to think of something.

_Are you a killer, Hermione? Would you be prepared to go that far?_

I don't know what I'd do anymore, to be honest.

Eventually he turns and comes over to me, handing me a plain silver goblet. 'Here, drink this.'

I look in the goblet. I recognise the potion. I've taken it enough times when I've gone to the hospital wing with flu, or fever, or any regular illness, and I've had to brew it up myself in potions lessons.

'What are you waiting for?' he says impatiently. 'I have no need to kill you; not _yet_ anyway.'

'Can you really blame me?' I ask quietly. 'You've hardly treated me well so far.'

I feel a small, sharp burn cross my face, but I don't give any sign that I've felt it at all.

'Don't be insolent,' he says curtly. 'Drink it.'

I slip my hand into my pocket, feeling the blade of the knife, sharp against my fingers.

_Not yet. Wait._

I lift the cup up to my lips and I gulp the potion down quickly. It's very sweet, almost sickeningly so, but I can feel my head clear as the pain ebbs away from me and my body cools down.

He nods as he watches me drain the last of the potion. 'Good. Stand up.'

I put the cup down on the floor and I get to my feet, managing to do so without even swaying.

He looks at me, nodding as he notices my improvement, his face giving nothing away.

What can I do? This could be the only time I'm going to be alone with him. I have to use this opportunity now, or who knows when another one might come along?

But what can I do about Ron? If I wait for him to arrive, if he _is_ going to arrive, then I'll have to face Bellatrix and Dolohov too. It's going to be tricky enough to get past Lucius, let alone two more Death-Eaters.

'Where's Ron?'

His mouth twists up into a contemptuous sneer. 'Quite attached to the boy, aren't you?'

'Where is he?' I snap at him, sick of him taunting me about something that's none of his damn business anyway.

He raises his eyebrows. 'I wonder, does your friend know what strong reactions he provokes in you? Is it requited, your… burning passion?'

My face flushes, and I don't answer him. I won't give him that satisfaction.

'Or does he just like to keep you on hand? Does he like to have you around… as a back-up plan, if you will, just in case no-one better comes along?'

'No!' I snap.

'No?' He looks deep into my eyes. I can feel him probing into my mind. I blink, once twice, three times, because I can't let him see into my mind, not now. He might see the knife…

He's smiling a warped smile. But I don't think he's seen the knife. Not yet.

'I can see someone,' he drawls maliciously. 'Someone's face in your thoughts. It's another girl – a rival for your affections, I think. What's her name?'

I keep quiet, but he doesn't need me to speak. His words bring all that jealousy and all that anger flowing back to me.

'Lavender, you say? Ah, a pretty name for a pretty girl.' He withdraws his mind from mine and he moves closer, his voice so low I can barely hear him. 'It hurt you, didn't it, that he chose her over you? Someone so simple, with only a tenth of your intelligence.'

'That's not true-'

'I think it is. You realized that he had to choose between the intelligent one and the pretty one, and he chose the pretty one. The pretty, stupid one had more to offer him than you did.'

I finger the knife in my pocket.

He brushes a lock of hair away from my face. 'It's a common failing amongst teenage boys, Mudblood.' His voice is low, too low, and if I didn't know any better I'd think… what would I think? 'They can't see past the... physical aspects of things.'

I stand rooted to the spot, almost holding my breath.

'Now tell me,' he goes on remorselessly, 'how did you react when you learned that he had chosen someone else over you? Did you pretend you were fine about it all, or did you take revenge? Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, they say, and you have quite a temper on you, as I have discovered. I know what option I would have chosen.'

His fingers trace a slow, deliberate line down my cheek as he looks deep into my eyes. I blink, several times, because I can't let him see my thoughts right now, not with what I'm planning.

'Ah.' He smiles all the wider, and I realise that he hasn't seen _that_ deeply. Not enough to see past what he's looking for. 'You chose _that_ immortal revenge tactic, did you? I would have thought that romancing his Quiddich rival was a little too _Slytherin_ for you, Miss Granger.'

'What would you know?' I ask, finally breaking my silence and batting his hand away from me. 'You don't know anything about me.'

He points his wand at my face and I feel that stinging, tearing slap again.

I take a deep breath.

_One foot in front of the other. _

'Why are we here?' I ask.

His eyebrows twitch up. 'Good god, your curiosity is positively feline. Our Head-quarters had to be evacuated. Carrow gave our position away after his capture before we could get to him. And so now I am stuck out here, in the back end of nowhere in this run down old place, with only _you_ for company.'

'Isn't anyone else coming?'

'Oh, yes. Bella and Antonin will arrive here soon with your little friend. We won't be left _alone_ together for long.' He raises his eyebrows smugly. 'Sorry to disappoint you.'

'When are they going to get here?'

His face creases into a tiny frown. 'Soon,' he says carefully, his voice very quiet. 'Let that be enough for you.'

_Breathe, Hermione. He doesn't know, not yet._

I reach into my pocket to feel the blade, now warm due to the amount of time I've been holding it. I slip it against my fingers.

'I don't know why you're so eager for the boy to arrive.' A small smile flickers onto his face. 'Mind you, his almost unending stupidity does make you look almost intelligent by comparison. Perhaps that's your reason for wanting him with you-'

'Ron's not stupid!' I snap. 'And neither am I.'

'He _is_ stupid_. You_… well, you've got some _basic _intelligence, I grant you, but nothing beyond the norm for a Muggle.'

His words sting me into a response. 'I've been told that I'm the best in my year at school-'

'Oh, you're _so_ proud of that, aren't you? Draco has told me time and time again about your incessant hand raising in class. Do you enjoy showing off your intelligence, thereby inadvertently putting your peers down?'

'No!' My cheeks flush at that one. 'I put my hand up in class because I know the answer to the questions being asked-'

'Lie to yourself if you must, but not to me. At least I am honest about my arrogance. You – you can't even be honest to yourself.'

I don't answer him. I slip my fingertips over the blade of the knife.

'So intelligent,' he says quietly, looking me up and down. 'Ruthless too, from what I've heard.'

'What are you talking about?'

He smiles at me again, and there's something new in his face. Something that could, if I'm not mistaken, be respect. 'I have heard stories about you over the years, Miss Granger. Unpalatable stories. For example, I heard all about that poor Edgecombe girl – about how you disfigured her simply because she let the cat out of the bag concerning your little Defence Against the Dark Arts group.'

I suck in my breath.

'That was a clever trick.' His voice is low. 'So clever, but so _cruel_. Worthy of a Slytherin, in fact. Have you ever considered that the sorting hat might have put you in the wrong house?'

'No!' I snap.

He smirks. 'No, you're probably right. Slytherin would never allow one of your heritage into its house. It's a shame, really – who knows what you might have become, if it were not for that one failing-'

'Why is it a failing?'

'I have told you why.' He rolls his eyes. 'You have no right to study magic, no right at all. I inherited my talent from my ancestors – some of the greatest witches and wizards that ever walked the earth. You – you're nothing more than a freak of nature.'

'I bloody am _not._'

'Oh, really?' He leans forward and tangles his fingers into my hair. 'What would you call yourself, then?'

'A witch?'

Why did I voice that as a question?

'A witch.' He pushes his fingers deeper into my hair. 'I see. I wonder how long it would take you to see otherwise.'

For a moment, there's a look in his eye that terrifies me.

He shakes his head, pulling his hand away from my hair. 'Where do you think you got your 'powers' from?' he asks me quietly. 'Blood is so very important. Blood is what transfers power from wizard to wizard. Blood is the most important thing in the magical world. I would have thought that one of your supposed intelligence would be aware of that.'

Blood. I can smell Ron's blood again; I can see it bright before my eyes.

Lucius watches me, a smirk on his face. 'You're remembering what you did, aren't you?'

His voice tears holes in me. Every instinct I have tells me to shout at him, to scream out my rage and to hurt him, make him bleed and scream.

But I don't. I can't just lash out, or I'll lose control.

'Ron's my best friend,' I say quietly.

'Yes, I'm aware of that.'

'Then how could you make me _do _that to him?'

He smiles. 'All too easily.'

_Now, Hermione. _

I rip the knife out of my pocket and hold it up to his face.

His reaction isn't what I expected. Although fear definitely flickers over his face and makes him draw breath, it's gone in a second to be replaced by the smallest of smiles.

'It's amazing what desperation can push us to.' His voice is low and perfectly still.

'Aren't you scared?' I hiss at him, my hand shaking like mad, the knife wobbling dangerously. I take a deep breath to try and steady myself.

'My dear girl, why on earth should I be scared?'

'I could kill you.'

'And that should scare me?' he asks, his voice low with challenge. 'Do it.'

I take all my breath in very suddenly.

Can I do it?

I _should _do it. I should cut him into a thousand pieces for everything he's done.

_Do it, Hermione! He deserves it._

He watches me in silence. That smile doesn't leave his face as I deliberate with myself.

He knows that I can't do it. He _knows_.

'Well go on, then.' He's goading me. 'You want to, don't you? After everything I've done to you, you must want to. But I'm curious – after you've killed me how do you plan on getting across the lake without anyone to help you?'

'_Shut _up!' I hiss, my hand shaking like nothing else.

He laughs at me; a low chuckle of mocking. I move my hand forwards, planting the blade against his cheek. It glints silver on his pale skin, and he stops laughing, his eyes flickering down to the blade before moving back to me.

'I'll strike up a deal with you, _Lucius_.' The power is mine now. If I can just keep my nerve, then I can get out of this.

'Ah, a negotiation,' he replies. I get the feeling he's almost enjoying himself. 'Well, I'm listening, _Mudblood_. What's your proposition?'

He speaks with such confidence. Why isn't he more afraid?

'I want you to give me your wand.' My voice is calm and firm and I'm not shaking and I'm not scared.

Not at all.

'For what? So that you can Apparate out of here? Tell me, if Apparation was possible within this cave, do you really think I would have bothered to take you across the lake?'

I take a deep breath.

'Right then. Well… I want you to take me across the river.'

'Or what?'

'Or I'll kill you!'

'Oh, I see.' His voice is still calm, and he doesn't understand that I'm in control now. 'A bargain for my life. How original. But I feel I should warn you, your escape will not put me in the best of moods. And who knows who I might take my bad temper out on?'

Damn. He could use Ron to get me to do anything, and he knows that I'd have to go along with it.

'I'm not going to let you go once we get over there!' My voice is shaking. 'You'll take me over the river, and then you'll come with me and turn yourself in to the Order, and then you'll tell them exactly where this place is so that they can come back here and rescue Ron.'

'So you expect me to give myself up in exchange for my life?' He laughs, and the blade flashes against his cheek. 'Why on Earth would you expect me to do that? I'd rather die than let the guards of Azkaban get their hands on me again. So go ahead – kill me. What are you waiting for? Do it!'

I tense up, willing myself to do it.

But… I _can't_. I can't do it. I'm not a killer.

He laughs at me as I struggle with myself, the blade shaking across his cheek.

'You can't, can you? You just don't have the nerve. You're nothing but a stupid little girl playing with adult's toys. Although maybe I've only got myself to blame. It was me who taught you how to use a knife in the first place, after all.'

All the memories of how I planted the knife in my own leg, how I cut off my own best friend's thumb under his command, and everything else – my burning hand, broken fingers, Ron's screams, my screams, his blood my blood and pain pain pain - all those memories come screaming back to me, ripping up to the surface and his face burns in front of me, and I hate hate _hate _him! I want him to die! Who cares? He deserves it!

I bring back my hand but he catches my wrist before the blade can reach him.

I don't have time to think.

I kick out in front of me, catching him on the shin. He sucks in his breath and his grip on my wrist loosens. I wrench myself out of his grasp, but he grabs hold of me, trying to grip on to my arms, my waist, my hair.

I buck and thrash against him, knowing that this is my only chance. I try to wrestle out of his grip, but he grabs hold of me by the waist, and _no! _I won't let him take this chance from me, I have to have to have to–

I slam the knife into his shoulder.

He yells as he doubles over.

Oh… oh god.

Blood spills out of the wound, over his hand as he grips at his shoulder.

I back away from him, horrified and numb and nothing makes sense, and oh my god _shit! _I can't believe I just did that, I'm… I'm… Oh my God!

He clamps his mouth shut, breathing harshly through his nose as he rips the knife out of his body, his face contorted with agony.

And then he looks up at me with raw, terrible hatred. I'm more scared in this moment than I have ever been before. This isn't just a fight between a prisoner and a captive anymore, no, now it's him and me and me and him and that's all there is in this, just me and him.

'You little muggle BITCH!'

I turn away from that roar of naked hatred and I run. God knows where, but I can't let him get to me, not now, not now. Everything's changed, and I changed it.

I stumble to the door, pulling and pulling at the handle, screaming for someone to help me, but to no-one, there's no-one but him.

His hands land on my shoulders, spinning me around, and his face is before me, twisted and white with hate, and I see his fist before my eyes before it hits me.

I fall to the floor, lights flashing before my eyes and my face is broken, smashed, and I can't bear the pain, the never-ending pain, but he's not finished.

He crouches above me, grabbing me by the collar of my robes with one hand and slamming the other into my face, again and again and again, breaking bones, tearing skin, and pain crashes into me and he sinks his booted foot into my stomach and my chest and he hits me over and over, punctuating his hits with words of hate.

'You stupid,' _smack,_ 'worthless,' _slap,_ 'little bitch!' His fist slams into my face, my nose is bleeding, and I'm screaming and sobbing, and my face is torn, I can taste, smell, feel blood. 'When I'm through with you, believe me, you will wish you'd never been born!'

He stops then, finally letting go of me and letting me fall to the floor. I feel the world spin around me, and oh god, my _face!_

He stands up, grabbing me by the hair, yanking my head back to face him, and my scalp burns and everything is pain, everything.

He looks down into my face, watching me as I try to stop the tears from running down my face. His own face is so contorted with white hot fury that he doesn't even look human anymore.

'You should be careful,' he says quietly, his breathing fast, 'or one day you'll push me too far and I really will murder you.'

I don't doubt for a second that he really means it.

He drags me by the hair and out of the room, along the corridor until eventually he opens a door, and pushes me into a lightless room, shutting me in there and locking the door as he leaves me alone in the dark.


	8. Questions and Answers

'_This must be the wood,' she said thoughtfully to herself, 'where things have no names. I wonder what'll become of my name when I go in? I shouldn't like to lose it at all – because they'd have to give me another, and it would almost be certain to be an ugly one.'_ – Lewis Carroll, _Through the Looking Glass_

* * *

'_I want you to make full use of the new facilities available to you in order to make yourself respectable before you present yourself to me this evening. I have left you a robe to wear, but be sure not put it on until you are ready to join me. Be well aware that things shall become all the worse for Weasley if you refuse to comply with my wishes. I patiently await your arrival. Malfoy.'_

My eyes travel furiously over the twirly scrawl across the note, before I rip it in half, quarters, eighths, sixteenths, and let it fall to the floor.

My arrival? My arrival where? Where does he want me to _go? _

Even if I knew where to go, how the hell am I meant to get there? The bloody door's locked – does he expect me to break it down, or what? There isn't even a window I can climb out of, for god's sake.

And what does he want to see me for? I don't _ever_ want to see him again after what happened when I last saw him.

I sigh, sitting down on my new bed, staring out into my new bedroom.

Well, I suppose it must be my new bedroom. It's where I woke up after I fell asleep out of sheer exhaustion in the cupboard he locked me in.

Someone must have moved me here while I was sleeping. God knows why I didn't wake up while they were moving me.

It could be worse, I suppose. It might be dark and dingy and old, but it's a palace compared to the cell I became used to. I mean, I've got a _bed_, for crying out loud! Not only that, but I've got an en-suite bathroom.

An actual _en-suite bathroom._

It's almost laughable, really.

I have no idea why I've been given my own room, and for now I don't care. Maybe I'll ask him one day.

Alright, so he wants me to 'make myself presentable' and to get dressed in the robes he's left for me… I assume he means that green, silky thing placed carefully over the chair by the dressing table.

But where the hell does he want me to go when I've got dressed?

_Take it one step at a time. Clean yourself up first, and get changed.  
_

I pad across the floor and into the black-tiled bathroom, and I turn on the taps attached to the sunken bath in the middle of the floor.

I peel off my robe, then sit down and slip my body into the water. It reaches my waist as my feet touch the ground. Every bruise and cut smarts, but I allow myself to sink deeper, further and further until the burning liquid reaches my neck. Perhaps if I stay in here long enough I could boil all of the guilt, all of the pain and all of the anger out of me.

_I wish I could watch them all suffer so much that they want to die._

I grab a rough looking brush and a bar of soap from the side of the bath, using them to scrub the dried blood, sweat, and grime off of me.

_I wish I could watch Bellatrix scream and writhe and beg for mercy under the cruciatus curse, over and over and over again._

My skin flushes crab red with the heat of the water and the roughness of the brush, but I don't stop, even as the bristles snag at my cuts and grazes.

_I wish I could watch Dolohov dragged naked through the streets in a sea of humiliation._

I wash my hair, furiously scratching at my scalp with my soapy fingers, before I dunk my entire body into the boiling water, blocking out the world around me.

_I wish I could see Lucius suffer. I wish I could see him lose everything. I want to see him lost in his own despair, crying and screaming and wailing until he falls down dead out of sheer exhaustion. I wish that I'd driven that knife right into his heart._

_God willing, one day I will._

A small stream of bubbles escapes from my mouth.

_Dear God, before I die let me see Lucius Malfoy suffer. Let me laugh over him as he suffers at my feet. Oh god, let me see him in pain, and I will be grateful forever. _

I burst through the surface, wiping the dripping water away from my face.

_Amen._

I pull myself out of the bath, splashing boiling, soapy water along the tiled floor. I pull a towel down from the rail attached to the wall, wrapping it around me like a blanket before heading back into my bedroom, where I dry myself off before sitting down at my dressing table.

The face that stares back at me from the mirror is barely recognizable, thanks to the huge gash across my cheek, and the other over the bridge of my nose, the bruise on my cheekbone and the others on my jaw, my temple, my forehead...

I sigh, and I finish drying off my hair with the towel before setting at it with a comb I find on the dressing table. It hurts like hell – my hair is so tangled it takes me what feels like an hour to work through all of it, gradually prising knots out, ripping hairs away from my head. When I eventually finish it off I rub at it again with the towel until it starts to frizz out around my head; a sure sign that it's nearly dry.

I go back into the bathroom, finding a toothbrush and toothpaste by the sink. I scrub hard at my teeth and I rinse my mouth out, spitting it all out of me - the tears, the blood and the vomit, everything I've had to taste in the last few days.

I go back to the dressing table, looking in the mirror again.

Bastard. How does he expect me to 'make myself presentable' if I look as if I've done a couple of rounds in a boxing ring?

Like an instant answer to that question, a bottle of clear liquid resting on the dressing table catches my eye. I pick it up and read the label.

'_For instant skin healing – removes everyday bruises and cuts.'_

I snort with hysterical laughter before I unscrew the bottle of ointment and dab it onto the wounds on my face. It stings, but it makes the cuts heal up instantly and the bruises disappear as if they were never there.

I sit back and take a long look at myself in the mirror. I might be clean, but it's a different girl I see in the mirror before me than the one I'm used to. My eyes have the wild, skittish look of someone that's becoming accustomed to living in continuous fear.

I stand up and shake out the robe he's given me so I can look at it properly.

I don't want to wear it. Isn't there anything else I could wear?

I put it back and walk instead to the wardrobe, pulling open the heavy oak doors with a little difficulty.

I gasp out a little incredulous laugh as I rifle through the robes that fill it. Plain woolen robes – all of them in variants of brown, black, or grey. Dirty colours.

Mud-like colours.

I slam the doors shut and pick up the green silky thing instead, cursing furiously under my breath all the while as I ease it over my head. It falls in silky folds to the ground, completely covering my feet. I somehow negotiate my way through the laces as the back, silently hating him with every fiber of my being for not providing me with either underwear or shoes, bloody, bloody bastard, I hate him, hate him-

I do the button up at the top of the robes…

And I'm pressing into something really small, and then dissolving, disappearing, melting into thin air, floating through nothing-

Black space. Darkness. No light, no sound.

Some kind of void, maybe?

No, not a void. That cold stone floor under my feet wouldn't be present in a void, would it?

Besides, voids don't technically exist... right?

But there's nothing here! Just darkness. Cold, black silence. Nothing.

_Keep calm. It's a mind-trick, a sick game of his, nothing more._

I take a deep breath. The in, the out.

I walk forwards, reaching out into the darkness. Slowly, carefully. I'm not even breathing. Who knows what could be in here, in this place… _where am I?_

Keep walking, step by tentative step. I force myself onwards and onwards until eventually my fingertips touch-

Stone. Cold stone. I breathe out, move my fingertips along and yes, it's a wall.

It's an empty room, that's all.

I turn around and press my back to the wall, sliding down it, sinking slowly to the ground. I pull my knees up to my chest.

Something just moved. I heard it in the corner, something just _moved!_

I scramble to my feet.

'Who's there?'

No answer.

'Don't mess around with me!' I hiss.

Silence. Nothing but silence and darkness and my fear.

'Don't excite yourself, Mudblood.'

A small red light shoots out from nowhere, up into the air and into what turns out to be a lantern in the middle of the ceiling, filling the small, stone room with a dull red light.

And there he is, standing at the other side of the room with his wand raised and a smile on his face.

I suck in my breath. With that pale skin and that cruel smile and the red lighting, he almost looks like Voldemort.

Although he's smiling his eyes are flinty, stony and hard.

_Get him talking; this silence is going to get you nowhere._

'Why are we here?'

'You will discover why, in good time.' He runs his forefinger along his wand. 'Why don't you try to exercise some patience? It's such an attractive virtue, don't you think?'

I try to breathe deeply. 'Where are we?'

'In the cellar of the house.'

'What house? The house we arrived in… the other day?'

'Hmm. The house we arrived in _yesterday_. It used to belong to my wife's parents. Bellatrix came into possession of the place at their deaths, as the eldest daughter, and she has kindly allowed us to stay here for the time being.'

'Why are we in the cellar?' I ask, my head whining with panic.

He's still smiling that sadistic smile. 'I thought it might be interesting for us to spend some… time together. When we are finished, you may return to your own room.'

'Is… is Ron here, too? In the house, I mean,' I add hurriedly.

He rolls his eyes. 'Yes, he's here. He arrived with Bella and Antonin about an hour after you did. He's got his own room, just like you have, and because he came without a struggle I assume that he's quite comfortable. So you needn't worry yourself about him.'

I breathe a tiny sigh of relief.

He flicks his wand at the ground, and a table and two chairs appear in the space between us. And there's food laid out on that table – so much food that it makes me feel almost sick with hunger.

He smirks at the look on my face before he goes to sit in one of the chairs.

'Would you care to eat with me, Miss Granger?'

I… _what?_

Is this a game, or something?

His eyes narrow. 'Sit. Down.'

I know I should do as he says. But I don't want to sit down to eat with him either.

In a few strides he's got me by the arm and he twists it up, dragging me to my chair and forcing me down into it before returning to his own.

'That's better.' He returns to his chair and pours some wine out into two silver goblets, handing one goblet to me before raising his own.

'To the Dark Lord.'

He raises his drink to his lips without taking his eyes away from my face.

I fling my own goblet across the room. It hits the wall with a hollow 'clunk', and the blood-red liquid runs down the stone.

He doesn't even flinch. He just smiles as he summons the goblet back to the table and fills it with wine once again.

Then he raises his wand at me.

'Imperio!'

_Ahh, that's better. Nothing, nothingness, oh it's so lovely and warm in nothingness._

'_Lift up the goblet.'_

_Do as it says, why should I doubt it?_

'_Say the words…'_

Why?

'_Say the words!'_

But-

'_Say them!'_

_Oh, anything for you, anything. Just keep me here in this warmth, and I'll do anything to please you._

'To the Dark Lord.'

'_Good. Now sip the wine.'_

_I'll do anything and everything for you.  
_

_Just… keep me here… with you… don't leave me…_

The curse seeps away from me. I can taste the acidity of the wine on my tongue.

He's smiling at me now. I've done what he wants, and he's enjoying every last bit of watching me squirm.

'Please,' he gestures to the food in front of us, 'eat.'

Although every instinct I have cries out for me to eat everything I can, I fight against it. I'm not going to play his sick little games with him.

I press my lips together and look down at my hands clasped tight in my lap.

'Oh dear.' He sighs heavily, exaggeratedly. 'If there's one thing I can't stand in a Mudblood, it's bad manners. Perhaps you need a little more… persuasion.'

'No,' I say hurriedly. 'N-no, I'll… I'll eat.'

I spoon some food out onto my plate, eating quickly. I feel like I could eat and eat forever to make up for how little I've eaten since my capture.

He's not eating anything. He's just watching me.

I pause mid-chew, swallow, and lower my fork onto my plate.

'Finished?'

Wordlessly, I nod.

He stands up and waves his wand. The table, the food, the wine and his chair all disappear, leaving only the chair I am sitting on.

He walks over to me, slowly, and he puts a hand on each of the arms of my chair. I lean back impulsively.

'Did you enjoy your meal, Mudblood?'

I stare right back at him, pressing my lips together.

_I'm not afraid of you!_

Liar.

'What are you doing?' I don't know what else to say.

He smirks at that and steps back, walking around me, behind my chair. I stay still, keeping my head faced forward.

'That wasn't an answer to my question, was it?'

His hand snakes up under my hair and brushes onto the back of my neck.

It's… warm.

His fingers dig into the side of my neck and I turn my head involuntarily towards him as he crouches down next to me so that our eyes are level. He smiles at me still. 'I want you to tell me whether you enjoyed your meal.'

'Of course I did. I'm starving.'

'Good. I shall be sure to let the house-elves know how much you enjoyed the meal they cooked for you.'

I gulp down my exclamation of rage, but he can read my expression.

'But you should be pleased, Miss Granger. The house-elves were happy to cook for us. You see, they know their place.' A hard, cold look creeps into his eyes. 'The question remains, why don't you know yours? You have more intelligence than an elf, surely.'

Oh. So this is why he's brought me here.

'I think it's time that you learned more of your station, since you seem to be so reluctant to accept it.'

He removes his hand from my neck. 'Stand up.'

I do as he says, and he flicks his wand at the chair I was sitting on. It disappears into the ground.

'I want you to answer some questions for me.' He smiles at the look on my face. 'Oh, don't worry. They're quite different to the questions I have asked you so far. These questions are of a far more subtle nature, but no less important, I think.'

I take a deep breath, feeling my nerves knot.

'Who are your parents, Miss Granger?'

What?

I just stare at him. 'Do you really think that I'm going to lead you right to them?'

He rolls his eyes. 'Use your brain for once, Mudblood. If we had any need of your parents, do you really think that we wouldn't have got hold of them by now? Their names and their address did come up while we were tracking you down.'

_Breathe, Hermione._

'If you already know everything there is to know about my parents, then why do you need me to name them for you?'

He twirls his wand leisurely between his fingers, his eyes not leaving my face. 'I don't believe that was the answer to the question I asked. I repeat, who are your parents?'

'David and Jane Granger.'

A sharp slap stings my cheek.

'Wrong answer. Again, who are your parents?'

What does he want from me? What the hell does he _want_?

'I've told you, David and Ja-'

That sharp sting hits my cheek again.

'Oh dear. And there was I, believing you to be reasonably intelligent. Shall I make it easier for you to understand what I'm asking you for? Who are _you?'_

'Hermione Granger.'

He sighs in pure exasperation. 'Muggles have no sense of subtlety. You leave me no choice but to make my meaning plain. _What_ are you?'

The seed of understanding is planted in my mind.

I straighten myself up, lifting myself from the head downwards.

'A witch.'

_Wrong answer._

He smiles and flicks his wand at me, and a tongue of flame licks up my back - a scorching, white-hot mercury flame.

'Allow me to educate you, Miss Granger. You see before you a wizard; one whose power was handed down to him by blood. You, you are a muggle, a muggle that has been given a wand. There is a world of difference between the two of us, Mudblood, and so I would ask you not to put us in the same category. I repeat, what are you?'

I need to be strong.

'A witch.'

He doesn't curse me, like I expect him to. He just looks at me.

'Did you wonder why I got you to wear those robes?'

He waves his wand, and a huge, full length, ornate mirror appears on the wall in front of me.

'Look at yourself.'

_Look at yourself… hardly a beauty, are you?_

Those words are going to be burned into my brain for the rest of my life.

Our two reflections look back at us from the mirror. His sneering and cold. Mine pale and terrified.

He drops his eyes from the mirror and takes hold of my hand. I jolt, and he smirks as he brings my hand up and examines the burns and bruises on it.

'You irritate me, Mudblood. To tell the truth, I've never come across someone so infuriating. I had hoped to be finished with you as soon as possible, but fate has proved… cruel, wouldn't you agree?'

I don't answer him.

He rubs his thumb over the pink, shiny burn scar in the middle of my hand, and then his fingers move up over my wrist, and then there's the barrier of fabric between us as he moves them over the dress sleeve, up my arm and eventually onto my bare shoulder, grazing bare skin with his fingers.

'It's a beautiful dress, isn't it?' His voice is quiet, too quiet, and he stands behind me, looking intently at the reflection in the mirror again, his fingers resting lightly on my bare shoulder.

He twists his other arm around me and makes a swift tearing motion down the middle of my body with his wand.

I look down.

My dress is torn clean in half.

'What are you _doing?_'

I pull the two sheets of material close around me, but his hand knots itself into my hair and twists, and he wrenches me upwards before grabbing at my arms and pinning them behind my back.

_No no no no NO!_

'Stop it, please, _stop it_-'

'Shut up, Mudblood. Your incessant whining really does grate after a while.'

He pulls the dress off of me, and he pins my arms behind my back again so I can't keep hidden, not at all. He holds up the beautiful fabric in front of me.

'These are robes made for a witch.' His voice pulls tears up to my eyes. 'You are a muggle. You're lower than a house-elf. You are not worthy to wear such clothes.'

He throws the bundle of green across the room, then he throws me on the ground. I cower, curling myself up into a ball. I want to go home, I want my mum and dad, I want to be left alone.

He crouches down next to me and rolls me viciously onto my back, pinning my arms to the ground.

'Please, don't-'

He slaps me across the face. 'You will speak when spoken to.' He points his wand into my face. '_What are you?_'

I don't answer. I'm so terrified that I can't speak, anyway.

He snarls as I press my lips together and he slaps me across the face once again, before he gets up thank god, thank _god_, and points his wand at the floor, where a small pile of brown material appears.

'Get up and get dressed.'

I wrench myself up and I grab what turns out to be a plain brown robe, which I quickly put on.

'Get up!'

I pull myself hastily to my feet at his command, looking down at my feet.

_Hate hate hate._

'You shall find similar garments in your wardrobe.' He grips at my chin, wrenching my head up. 'You will dress according to your station, do you understand?'

I don't answer, because I know that if I do my voice will crack and I won't give him that satisfaction.

_Hate, hate, hate._

His fingers dig in under my chin, pulling me closer to him. 'I said, do you understand?'

'Yes.' I feel my face collapse into tears as I answer. _Hate hate hate hate hate._

He smiles and releases me. 'Good.'

He waves his wand at the mirror, which disappears into the floor.

I press my lips together and try not make a single sound.

'I ask you again, what are you?'

_Hate._

_Hate._

_HATE HATE HATE HATE HATE!_

'I'll tell you what _you _are! An evil, twisted _bastard!' _I scream.

His face twists.

I lift up into the air and I fly backwards, slamming into the wall behind me. Pain shoots through me, crushing all of my back, and I fall to the floor, gasping in agony.

'Dear me, Mudblood, I thought I knew you better. It saddens me to admit it, but I thought you might have a bit of common courtesy.'

I can't believe he just said that.

'Was I not kind enough to give you a wonderful meal?' he goes on, ignoring my glare of absolute loathing. 'We ate together in a civilized manner, didn't we? I thought you might be exercising some compliance, or at least some good manners.'

He points his wand at me.

'It was food you didn't deserve. It was too good for the likes of _you_. And seeing as you aren't even grateful for it, I don't see why you should have eaten it in the first place.'

He steps back from me, and a jet of orange light hits me in the stomach...

And my gut is spinning and squelching. I fall to the ground as acid burns up through my chest and out of my contracting throat and I can't do anything to stop it.

I throw up all of my dinner.

I crouch on the floor, heaving deep breaths once I've finished. He points his wand at the vomit, which vanishes like it was never there.

He conjures up a glass of water in his free hand, which he holds out to me.

'Unlike you, Mudblood, I am not without courtesy. Drink this.'

I want to throw it back in his horrible, smug face, but I don't. I drink it down, and when I've finished the glass disappears from my hand.

'Stand up.'

I do as he says, shakily getting to my feet and looking him in the eye with as much dignity as I can muster.

'What are you?'

Oh, for god's sake, is it really worth it? What's the point? This could go on forever, if I don't give him what he wants.

_Then let it go on forever. You promised; you swore to yourself that you wouldn't let him win. _

I gather up whatever pride I have left and I answer him.

'You're very slow, Lucius Malfoy.' I breathe a laugh. 'Just like your son.'

A muscle goes in his jaw at that, but I don't stop.

'I _am_ a witch, and there's nothing you can say or do to change it.'

There's a long silence while he just looks at me. Then he conjures up a knife out of thin air, catching it by the handle.

'Ah, such a dangerous instrument in the wrong hands.' He looks up and smiles, shark-like. 'But then, you would know all about that, wouldn't you?'

Yes. Yes, I would. And I wish, more than anything, that I'd driven that knife into his neck rather than his arm.

His _arm._ What was I _thinking?_

He steps towards me. 'You're a witch, you say. Tell me, would you give your life for that idea?'

'Of course.' I say, my breathing very tight in my chest.

'Of course.' His voice is so low, too low. He lifts up the knife, and presses the blade to my cheek. 'Any witch would do the same thing – you won't be the last, and you're certainly not the first. But then, as a muggle-born you would know that better than most, wouldn't you?'

I frown at him. 'What are you talking about?'

His smile flickers. 'I am talking about the persecution that my ancestors suffered at the hands of yours. I'll say one thing for muggles – stupid they may be, but they were certainly _inventive_ when it came to the delicate art of murder. They had quite a selection of torturous methods which they could use to dispose of witches and wizards. I imagine it was quite a game for them – which technique should they choose this time? Drowning, or strangulation? The noose, or the fire?'

I swallow. 'They were different times. I can't be blamed for what my ancestors may have done to yours in their ignorance-'

'That's neither here nor there,' he snaps, his smile disappearing. 'The fact remains that, in their stupidity and ignorance and pride, muggles such as your filthy parents sent thousands of witches and wizards to an agonizing death. And you then have the nerve to pollute our society with your offspring a few generations down the line! Tell me - do you know how long it takes to burn to death? Have you ever smelt burning flesh?'

My mouth is numb and dry.

'They thought they were saving them,' I say eventually. 'They were uninformed back then – they didn't know any better. Their religion told them that the only way to save the soul of a witch was to burn them alive, and yes, they were wrong, but they genuinely believed it-'

'Oh, and I'm sure their victims were _so _grateful for that as their legs burned away underneath them,' he drawls in vicious triumph. 'I'm sure they thought only of their murderer's good intentions as they begged their families to pile tinder on their pyres so that they might die quicker.'

I glare at him, hating him. 'Don't you _dare _use real human suffering as a cheap way to prove a point to me-'

'I'll do whatever I like. I'm sure they wouldn't blame me. It wasn't _my_ ancestors that murdered them, was it?'

I take a second to get my breath back. My heartbeat is roaring in my ears. 'What do you want from me? Do you want me to burn alive too, so that I can prove my self-belief to you?'

He raises an eyebrow. 'Would you do it?'

For a moment, I'm speechless with utter disbelief.

He smiles. 'Well, perhaps the burning example is a little extreme.'

He runs the blade of the knife slowly down my cheek. The pressure is light on my skin; not strong enough to cut or even to hurt, but calculated just to tingle as it skims over my skin. Almost _not_ touching. Almost.

'But would you be willing to die for the absurd notion that you might be a witch? If it were to be a painless death, would you do it? To die for one's belief – the ultimate act of nobility. Every Gryffindor's fantasy, I imagine.'

I don't answer him, because he doesn't expect me to and because my breath is caught in my throat and I don't know whether I could even if I tried.

I feel the blade run _down _over my neck.

'Do you not fear death then, Mudblood?'

I swallow sharply. The knife shakes over the furious slamming of my pulse.

'Everyone dies.' My voice wavers in the air with absolutely no certainty at all.

'Indeed.' He's smirking at me. 'Who knows that better than I? I have been willing to give my life for what I believe in since I was old enough to talk. But I wonder - are you really prepared to do the same? Or is it really you who is the _coward_ here?'

He curls his fingers around my wrist, bringing it up between us. He takes the knife away from my chest, trapping it between his thumb and his palm as he runs his fingers over my hand, trailing them delicately over my skin, the burn scar, and the bruises around my fingers.

'This poor little hand has been through so much since we first met,' he murmurs. 'It almost breaks my heart to cause it yet more harm. But you will insist on pushing me too far.'

I realize too late what he's going to do as he presses the knife vertically against my wrist, tearing the skin, and blood spills out of the wound and down my wrists. He draws the blade down the delicate blue vein, and it hurts, like nothing on earth it _hurts_, and there's blood, too much blood, too much-

It runs red and warm over my wrists. Perhaps I could… yes, press down on the wound, grip at it, stop the blood, the endless blood.

'What do you _want?_ What do you WANT from me?'

'I want you to admit what you are,' he drawls, not caring. I could die and he wouldn't care.

_Say it, you know what he wants, just say it-_

I WON'T say it!

'I'm a _witch_!'

He wrenches my other hand towards him, drawing the blade down the other vein, digging deep this time, ripping into flesh, gouging into it.

_Hurts_ doesn't describe this. They'd need a whole new dictionary to describe _this._

'You'll die unless you admit it. And despite your protestations, I don't believe you're quite willing to go that far. So admit it. Tell me what you are.'

_I don't want to die._

That thought pierces me through everything else. I don't want to die. I know they'll kill me in the end, but while I'm alive I've still got hope. And that is worth everything.

'I'm a Mudblood.' I whimper the words out, holding my wrists together to stop the blood flow.

He smiles widely at that, and prizes my arms apart so that the blood runs free down my arms.

'And what else, Miss Granger, what else?'

I've got to go further. Give him what he wants. What else does he call me?

'A throwback. A freak. A Muggle masquerading as a witch.'

He smiles all the wider, and he picks up each of my wrists and oh my god, even to move them feels like hell itself-

But then that wonderful, warm golden glow of healing beams from his wand to my wrist, and the blood-flow… stops.

But the scars remain. Thick, pink scars run down my veins.

'I think we'll leave those.' He runs his finger lightly along one of the scars before he drops my hand. 'A nice little reminder for you should you ever forget your place again.'

_Bastard._ What are people going to think when they see these scars?

He's looking deep into my eyes. The invisible hand of legimilency probes around in my mind again very briefly before it withdraws.

'Did I hear that correctly?' He smiles then, a smile that doesn't reach those icy cold eyes. 'Who, exactly, do you think is going to see your scars? You're never going to get out of here.' That smile leaves his face and he wrenches me close to him suddenly by the hair, locking his eyes onto mine, and too close, far too close. 'You're going to _die_ here, don't you understand?'

I feel myself rip in half down the middle and _fuck it_; I just want it all to be _over!_

'Then what are you waiting for?' I grab the hand holding the knife and wrench it down to my chest. 'Why don't you just kill me, right here, right now? That's what you want, isn't it?'

His eyes flash then before he wrenches the blade away from my skin.

'Tempting though that idea is, I'm afraid I cannot pursue it. I'm… _we're_ not finished with you yet. We have plans for you.'

'What plans?' I push down the panic that fills my chest. 'What else could you need me for?'

'That's not yet your concern.' He flicks his wand at the knife in his hand and it disappears into thin air. 'Now, to get back to the matter in hand, _tell me who your parents are_.'

'David and Jane Granger.'

'_No!_' He shouts out his reply before slapping me across the face. Hard. My head snaps to the side and I cling to my cheek, gulping down the traitorous tears that are burning under my eyelids.

'Why are you doing this to me?' I ask quietly, looking back up into a face that's carved of ice.

'I believe you know why,' he drawls. 'Did you really think that I was going to let you get away with your behavior yesterday evening?'

Anger hits me so hard I think I'm going to be sick again.

'Do you think that what I did even compares to what you've put me through? _Do you_? I'd be ecstatic if one stab wound was all you'd done to me since I came here.'

'It's not the _wound_ that bothers me.' His face is set hard in anger. 'I've endured far worse.'

I almost want to smile. Almost. He can pretend all he likes, but I saw the look of pain on his face as the knife plunged into his arm.

'No, it was the sheer audacity of it,' he continues, his voice rising. 'A muggle committing violence against _me! _And it wasn't the first time, either. Remember when you slapped my face, back in your cell? What right have you to raise a hand to me?'

'WHAT RIGHT HAVE YOU TO DO IT TO ME?' I'm blazing on now. I just don't care anymore. I've passed that point. 'And Ron, what about him? He's pure-blood; I would have thought that would mean something to you. You said once that you reserved torture for muggle-borns, so _why_ did you have to hurt him?'

He opens his mouth to answer, and I can see words forming on his lips before he stops himself. He takes a deep breath before he eventually answers me.

'The boy comes from a family of blood traitors. Besides, his unspeakable stupidity irritates me beyond belief.'

He strokes the tips of his fingers lightly down my cheek, a mocking smile playing about his lips. 'I really don't know what you see in him. You're an intelligent girl. Why you would want to waste yourself on that _boy_, I'll never know.'

That's it. I snap.

'So who would you suggest I 'waste myself' on then? Someone like _you_, is that what you're getting at?'

His hand drops abruptly from my face and I clamp my mouth shut before I can say any more.

What did I say that for?

The look on his face terrifies me half to death. It's pure and utter rage, unlike anything I've ever seen on him before.

I start to babble, frantically trying to undo the damage I have done. 'I'm sorry, I didn't mean-'

His fingers press onto my lips, stopping my words dead.

He's smiling now. Just smiling a small smile, his eyebrows lowered in an expression that's just as dangerous as his rage.

'Be quiet,' he murmurs as he lowers his fingers from my lips and circles his other hand around my waist. 'Be quiet, my little Mudblood. Now-'

He pulls me closer to him in one sharp movement.

_No-_

I turn to get away from him but he holds on to me, pushing me backwards into the wall before I even have time to breathe.

I'm trapped between him and the cold stone.

_Between a rock and a hard place…_

That would have made me laugh, once.

He looks down at me with that dangerous, languid look on his face, but there's something cold and hard in his eyes, and I don't like it, I don't.

'Please, I'm sorry-'

'Shh.' He places his free hand lightly on my cheek, pushing his fingers back into my hair.

'Now, as to what you were saying before…'

His voice is low, far too low. He pulls my hips up to meet his, and my insides lock as his fingers entwine in my hair, far too close, and oh god, what have I done, where's this going to lead? I thought that I was safe from this, at least.

_But did you, really?_

I… I don't know.

His fingers push further into my hair. My hands, balled up into fists, are pressed to his chest. I see nothing except his face, his pale, aristocratic face, his smirking mouth and his cold grey eyes under lowered eyelids.

And he's moving his face closer to mine, closer, and I can't breathe…

Can't think…

Just… close my eyes…

Then his fingers tighten on my hair and wrench my head sideways, pulling it back and slamming it into the wall.

My head smashes, breaks into a million pieces and shit, FUCK, it hurts so badly I can't think, _ow ow _ohmyfuckinggod _ow_!

He is relentless. He doesn't release my head from the wall as he whispers furiously in my ear.

'How dare you suggest that I would even _contemplate_ such a thing? Do you really think that I'd dirty my hands on any Mudblood, let alone you… _you_! Good god, just _look _at yourself! I'd sooner throw myself off a cliff than touch _filth _like you. Do you understand me?'

I whimper, tears of pain, rage and humiliation flipping out of my eyes, and I can barely speak for pain, let alone answer him. He presses himself closer to me, his grip on my hair tightening, pulling a small cry from my throat.

'I said, do you understand?'

'Yes,' I whisper, and my complete and utter humiliation is now complete.

I watch him out of the corner of my eye, and for a moment he looks as if he's going to hit me again, but instead he releases me, stepping back from my body and removing his hand from my hair. I slide down to the floor, completely lost in my own mortification.

He turns away from me, running a hand over the back of his head and I can't see his face, his expression.

But when he turns back to face me his expression gives nothing away and his voice is cool and clipped again.

'Now, let us return to the subject at hand, shall we.'

* * *

'Who are you?' he asks, hours and hours later.

'A Mudblood.' My voice is robotic. 'A throwback. A freak. A Muggle masquerading as a Witch.'

'Who are your parents?'

'Filthy Muggles.' Tears come to my eyes as my lips work around the words, but I won't let those tears fall in front of him.

'Who is your master?'

'Voldemort.' He can go to hell if he thinks I'll cry in front of him ever, ever again.

'I'm sorry?'

I take a deep breath, and my ribs twinge as a reminder of another little trick he pulled to make me accept this.

'The Dark Lord.'

'Who should you obey?'

'My betters.' My tears harden and coil up inside me, and I'll never let him see them again, never.

'And who are your betters?'

This is it. Just a few more words and it will all be over. 'Those of pure blood.'

It's over. It's taken forever, but it's finally over.

He's smiling. I think it might be one of the few genuine smiles I've seen on the bastard's face. 'I knew that your will could be broken.' His voice is soft. 'And it seems that I was right, wasn't I?'

I feel dead.

_Dear God, let me see Lucius Malfoy suffer. Let me see him cry and scream and beg for mercy…_

'Aren't you going to answer me, _Mudblood_?' he drawls. 'Was I right? Has your will been broken?'

I answer through clenched teeth. 'Yes.'

_Let me see him die…_

He smiles all the wider, feeding off of my hate and shame. 'Good.'

He steps back from me and points his wand at the floor, conjuring up a bowl of soup, a chunk of bread, and a goblet of water.

'Please, help yourself. You must be hungry.'

_Go to hell._

Hell's too good for him. It'd probably spit him back out if he got there.

'And when you have finished, you can go to sleep. I think it might do you some good to stay here for a while. I'm not quite finished with you yet. I want to make sure that the message really sinks in.'

So it's not over. It will never, ever be over.

He runs a finger down my cheek. I flinch away from him. He smirks.

'I regret that I cannot stay here with you for now, but I have some important business to attend to. In the meantime, I wish you pleasant dreams.'

He reaches into his robes and pulls out a tiny key.

'The Great Hall.'

As soon as he says the words the key lights up bright red, and the last thing I see is his face smirking at me before he vanishes into thin air.

I sink to the floor slowly, so slowly.

_Oh god, let me see him suffer, and I will be grateful for all eternity. Amen._

How dare he? How… how bloody dare he? I hate him, with his pureblood mania and self-righteousness and smug attitude, the bastard, the utter, utter bastard-

I pick up the tray of food and I throw it across the room. It smashes into the wall and falls to the floor with an almighty clatter, the water spreading across the ground as the empty goblet rolls across the ground.

I stare blankly at the floor, wanting more than anything for the light to go away and for darkness to swallow me whole.


	9. Intermission

'_How beautiful you are! You are more beautiful in anger than in repose. I don't ask you for your love; give me yourself and your hatred; give me yourself and that pretty rage; give me yourself and that enchanting scorn; it will be enough for me.' - _Charles Dickens, _The Mystery of Edwin Drood_

_Ladies and Gentlemen, we are currently experiencing technical difficulties. We apologise for any inconvenience, and hope to resume normal service as soon as possible._

* * *

_Screams - ripping through my brain, pounding in my ears, the screams of souls trapped in the deepest depths of hell - and the worst noise in the world – the screams of a child, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, sorrysorrysorry… laughter - a horrible, low, mocking chuckle I know too well… __and then it__ changes. High. Wild. Cold. Voldemort, no no nononono don't make me, I can't, I've lost everything, Lucius has taken everything, how can you ask this of me now? Ron's voice, 'Don't lie to me.' He doesn't understand… screams fade,_ _but Voldemort's laughter grows wilder, louder, please, it wasn't my fault, I didn't want this, don't make me, I can't, won't, MudbloodMudblood, '_Hermione!' _Mudblood-_

'NO!'

I bolt upwards, shivering and shaking, and I can't breathe, I can't…

_Please don't make me choose-_

Hands grip at my shoulders. I hit at them, pushing them away from me_._

'Hermione, it's me!'

I stop, looking at the face in front of me. It swims into view, slowly.

'Oh god, Ron!'

I throw my arms around his neck, and he holds me closely to him, pressing his lips shakily to my forehead as I breathe deeply, pulling myself together. A nightmare, that's all. A stupid nightmare.

'It's okay, Hermione.'

I look up at him, putting my hands to his face and running my fingers over the cuts and bruises that lie among his freckles.

'Are you better now?' he asks.

I drop my hands from his face, feeling very stupid. 'Yes. It was just a nightmare, that's all.' I look around me. I'm still in that tiny stone room, but there's light now. Dark red light. And it's empty, mercifully, except for me and Ron.

He grips onto my arm and gives it a tiny squeeze of reassurance. It's such a sweet, simple, Ron-ish gesture that I burst into tears.

'What's the matter?' he asks. 'What's happened?'

I put my face in my hands. 'I'm so sorry, Ron.'

'Why are you sorry?'

The tears come thicker and faster. 'I'm sorry for everything.' The words tumble out of me in sobs. 'I'm sorry that I l-let them capture me. I'm s-sorry that I gave you away, and Harry. I'm sorry that they tortured you to g-get to me. I'm s-sorry I cut off your th-thumb-'

I start to sob so heavily that I can't speak. I press my fingers to my eyes, willing the tears to stop, but they just keep on coming.

He pulls my hands away from my face. 'Don't be silly. You've got nothing to be sorry for. My thumb's fine, see?' He holds it up and waggles it around to demonstrate, and I let out a tiny giggle. 'They used Imperius on you. What else could you have done?'

I shake my head. 'I should have fought it-'

'Hardly anyone can do that - it's too difficult.'

'But-'

'And don't feel bad about giving me and Harry away to them, either,' he says, knowing what I was going to say. 'I know what they must have done to get you to talk. God knows, they forced me to tell them enough.'

I nod. 'He… _they_ told me that they tortured you to get you to talk.'

'And I couldn't hold out against it any more than you could. I've told them things…'

He trails off, and I know that he's suffering with as much guilt as I am.

I grip at his hand. 'You couldn't help what you did, Ron,' I say quietly. 'No human being could hold out against that sort of pain. I know – they did the same to me.'

He smiles a small, bitter smile.

It's then that I notice how different he looks. I think it's in his eyes, but… there's an anger in them that wasn't there before we were captured.

But then, I suppose that I'm a completely different girl from the one I was before all this happened. Neither of us are ever going to be the same again.

But then he smiles and brushes my tears away with his thumb, and I realize that maybe we haven't changed, not really.

'Who brought you down here?' I ask.

'No-one did,' he says. 'I just woke up in the bedroom they've given me and I found a note with my plate of food. It had this ring on top of it.' He holds up his hand to show me that he's wearing a tiny silver band on his ring finger. 'The note said that if I wanted to see you I had to put this ring on, so I did, and it sort of… transported me here.'

I nod. 'Did the note say who had written it?'

He shakes his head. But I know who wrote that note, of course I do.

Why is he letting Ron visit me?

'Are they keeping you in _here_?' he asks indignantly, looking around. 'God, even _I've _got my own bedroom!'

'No, I don't think I'll be here for long,' I say, trying a reassuring smile. 'I had my own room at first, but… but Malfoy, he just said he wants to keep me here for the time being.'

Ron's face darkens. 'What for?'

'He didn't say,' I reply, because I don't want to tell him what's really going on.

I _hate_ how I have to lie to my best friend because of Lucius bloody Malfoy.

'I'm sure it's not anything bad, though,' I say hurriedly. 'I won't be here for long, he's said so. I think he just wants to try and mess with my mind by shutting me alone in here for a while. But it's nothing I can't cope with, so don't worry.'

'Bastard,' he mutters. 'What does he want from you _now_?'

'He didn't say.'

I could tell him what's really going on, but what's the point in letting him worry any more than he has to?

'I think he just wants to teach me some 'obedience', that's all. I was a bit… _rude _to him when we first arrived here. It's nothing I can't handle, really. I've hardly seen him since we arrived here.'

'Bastard,' he says again, his lips set in a thin line.

I rub at his arm in what I hope is a comforting gesture. 'Have you got your own room too, then?' I ask tentatively, trying to change the subject.

He allows himself a tiny, reluctant grin. 'Yeah. It's quite good, actually, compared with the cells we had before.'

I grin back at him. 'Do you have a dressing-table, a wardrobe, your very own en-suite bathroom, like I do?'

He laughs then, and I laugh with him. It feels good to smile – to _really_ smile.

'Oh yeah,' he says. 'Actually, I can do one better than that.'

I gasp mockingly. 'What else have you got? Wall-to-wall carpet?'

'Sort of. Well, there's a rug, anyway,' he says, and that sends us into giggles again.

He scoots up next to me and the pair of us sit with our backs against the wall. I rest my head on his shoulder and he curves his arm around my neck.

_What was that?_

My eyes shift for a second to the corner of the room. I could have sworn I heard…

Nothing. It's a very old house. It's shifting itself, that's all.

I close my eyes, savoring this moment with Ron because I know that it won't last long.

'What happened when they arrived at the Burrow?' I ask after a while.

He takes a deep breath. 'We were all in the living-room, trying to work out how to rescue you. Tonks was there, and so was Lupin, and a few others from the Order. Most of them were trying to convince us to give up. They said that you were probably dead already. But me and Harry… well, we wouldn't accept it. We weren't going to give up on you.'

'Anyway, Ginny came bursting in and told us that there were Death-Eaters coming towards the house. Me and Harry got ready to fight, but Tonks stunned him before he could do anything.'

I let my breath out in a low whistle. 'What did she do that for?'

'She said there was no point in the Chosen One risking his life if he wasn't fully prepared to face Voldemort. She dragged him to the fire-place and used the Floo network to get him out of there. I don't know where she took him.'

I shake my head. 'Harry's going to be so pissed off with her.'

'I know,' Ron says quietly.

'It was clever of her, though.' I smile to myself – I always liked Tonks.

'Yeah.' There's a sadness in his voice. Neither of us say what we're both thinking – that we're never going to see Tonks again, and we wish we'd got to know her properly when we'd had the chance.

Ron shakes his head. 'Anyway, by the time the pair of them had got out of there the Death-Eaters were breaking down the door. Mum grabbed Ginny and Apparated, but the rest of us stayed to fight. Dad tried to convince me to Apparate out of there, but I wouldn't go.'

I lift my head up. 'Why didn't you leave when you had the chance?'

He smiles sadly. 'I couldn't give up on you, Hermione. I knew that the Death-Eaters had taken you.'

My stomach is completely empty. Everything's my fault, all of it. He'd be at home with his family if it wasn't for me.

'Hermione?' He's got a tentative note in his voice. 'Malfoy, he… I mean, I know that he was given charge over you at first. He told me when they first came to question me. But, well, I mean…'

My heart sinks in my chest.

'He…' Ron goes slightly pink as he tries to voice himself. 'When they tried to get me to speak, I wouldn't tell them anything at first. But then he…' He presses his lips together.

'What did he do, Ron?'

He looks me straight in the eye then, and I see such anger and fear that for a moment he doesn't look like Ron Weasley at all.

'He told me that if I didn't give them what they wanted, then…' He takes a deep breath and lets it out again. 'He said he'd get all the Death Eaters... the men, I mean, to...'

I can taste bile in the back of my throat.

'Has he… has he touched you?' Ron asks. 'If he has, I swear-'

'He hasn't,' I say hastily. 'And I don't think he ever will either, so don't worry about that.'

'How do you know, though? You hear these stories about what happens to witches they take prisoner-'

'I _know_ because… because he's… dropped hints about it, but then laughed and said that he wouldn't dirty his hands on _filth _like me. He's actually said, 'I don't touch Mudbloods'. And anyway, when Dolohov…'

I trail off. I don't want to tell him about that.

_Too late._

Ron's ears are burning bright red with anger. 'What did Dolohov do?'

'Nothing,' I say, altogether too quickly, and his grip on my hand tightens.

'Tell me, Hermione.'

'It was nothing. It was just… well, Dolohov's tried it on, sort of… but Lucius stopped him. He said it would shame a pure-blood-'

But Ron's breathing is suddenly heavy.

I grip at his hand. 'Ron, it doesn't matter, don't you see? What I'm trying to say is that Lucius won't let them do anything, so it's alright-'

'I'll kill him,' he says quietly.

'Who? Lucius?'

He pauses. 'Both of them. Him and Dolohov. I'll kill them.'

I put my arm around his shoulders. 'Come on, I'm fine. And anyway, what about you? They've treated you worse than they've treated me-'

'No they haven't,' he says quietly. 'When they first came to torture me they said I was lucky that I wasn't Muggle-born, like you. They said they would be more lenient with me because of my blood. It wasn't long before Malfoy threatened to have you hurt and I told them everything.'

I rub at his arm, not knowing what else to do. 'It'll be alright, Ron. I promise you-'

'How can you promise _that_?' he asks. 'How can you say that everything will be alright, when we're under the control of these fucking psychos? When they've effectively said that they're going to kill us when they're finished with us?'

I press my lips together to stop the tears of hopelessness from falling.

'We've got to get out of here, Hermione.'

'How?' I ask. 'I mean, _you_ might be able to, if you manage to get yourself out of the house without meeting anyone on your way. But you'd have to swim across the lake, and I won't be able to come with you.'

'What do you mean?' he asks, frowning. 'You can swim, can't you?'

'Yes. But there are… creatures in that lake. They tried to kill me as I crossed the river. They go for muggle-borns, though, so that might be why you didn't see them.'

Ron sucks in his breath. 'That's what she was talking about, then.'

'What?' I ask.

'Bellatrix said something to Dolohov about how it was lucky all three of us were purebloods.'

I sigh. 'Yeah, that'd be it-'

'But we can't give up!' he says fiercely. 'We must be able to do _something!_'

'I don't think so, Weasley.'

My head snaps up to see a figure emerging from thin air as he pulls an invisibility cloak off himself, smirking at us. His wand is ready in his fingers as he throws the cloak to the floor.

I recover before Ron does.

'How long have you been there?' I ask as Ron and I pull ourselves to our feet.

'Long enough, Mudblood.' Lucius smirks as he answers me. 'Long enough.'

'But…' Ron stutters. 'You weren't there when I got here. You must have been here before I arrived!'

He was here while I was _sleeping?_

Lucius rolls his eyes. 'My, what exceptional powers of deduction. I assume that you have been put in charge of the family brain-cell for the time being?'

Ron lunges forward, but Lucius steps back curtly and flicks his wand at him.

'_Crucio!_'

'AAAAARRRRRRGGGGGGHHHHHH!'

Ron falls to the ground, bucking and writhing in agony. I throw myself towards Lucius, but as I reach him he grabs my throat, holding me out at arms length. I choke in his grasp, and although he keeps his wand on Ron his eyes are on me, full of cold, hard anger as Ron's screams tear through the room.

'Please-' I mouth the word.

His lip curls up, and he lifts the curse from Ron and throws me down on the floor. I crawl over to Ron's shaking body and I put my arms around him, cradling him to me.

'It's almost laughable,' Lucius drawls, but his face is far from smiling. It's full of an odd, angry expression that I can't fathom. 'You're both so unbelievably pathetic.'

Ron raises his head from the ground. 'Piss off, Malfoy!'

Lucius' face tightens, just for a second, before it curls up into a horrible smirk.

'Did you know that your friend calls me Lucius?' His gaze flicks to me for a second before it moves back to Ron. 'She knows that I dislike it, and yet she does insist on calling me by my first name. Why do you think that is, Weasley? Perhaps she's growing attached to me-'

'Ron, no!' I yell as Ron pushes himself quickly off of the ground.

'_Impedimenta!_'

Ron flies backwards into the wall, and cries out in pain as his body slams into the stone. But he doesn't crumple down to the ground, like I expect him to. He stays where he is, pinned to the wall.

'And _you_ stay where you are,' Lucius murmurs as he turns to me, 'or I'll make sure that he suffers for it.'

I pull myself to my feet, shaking from head to toe.

'What do you want?' I ask quietly.

He doesn't answer me. He just smiles and leans over me, murmuring in my ear. 'I must say, I enjoyed the conversation I overheard between the pair of you.'

I feel a blush burn across my face.

But why? Why should I feel embarrassed about it? If he wants to listen in to our conversation, that's his own sorry affair.

'Why were you here…' _alone while I was sleeping, watching me sleep, watching me dream,_ 'listening to our conversation?'

His raises his eyebrows. 'I don't need to justify my actions to you-'

'It's a reasonable question, Malfoy,' Ron snarls.

Lucius points his wand at him without even looking at him. I don't know what he does but Ron yelps and sucks his breath.

'I wasn't speaking to you, Weasley.'

'Stop it!' I say furiously. 'You don't need to hurt him.'

'And I won't, if he keeps his mouth shut and if you manage to keep yourself from being insolent. Have you ever considered that you might almost find me agreeable if you'd just do as I say?'

_Agreeable?_

I flick my gaze over to Ron, who's breathing harshly through his nose and staring at Lucius with a hatred that I've never seen on his face before.

I feel two fingers hook into my chin.

'Look at me, not him.'

I do as he says, and he lets go, smirking at me again.

'Good. And as to your previous question, I will tell you that I might be _compassionate _enough to let your friend visit you, but I'm not stupid enough to leave you two alone together. Who knows what two hormonal teenagers could get up to when left to pass the time together?'

'What does it matter to _you _what we _get up to?' _I ask.

His lips curls up. 'I have no interest whatsoever in your sordid little love-life.'

'Well then why-'

He cuts my words off with a hard slap across the face. My head flings backwards, and I bite the inside of my cheek to stop the tears from coming.

Ron starts shouting. 'You bastard! What kind of man hits a gi-'

'_Silencio!_'

Ron opens and closes his mouth silently, looking at Lucius with pure and utter hatred.

'You will speak when spoken to, boy,' Lucius says quietly.

I take automatic steps towards Ron.

'No.' Lucius doesn't even raise his voice. 'I don't think so.' He pushes me backwards, towards the wall. 'Stay there, and don't move until I tell you.'

I glare up at him. 'What kind of man hits a girl?' I say, finishing Ron's question for him. 'And what kind of man can't listen to the truth when a boy less than half his age spells it out for him?'

He looks at me for a long time, then shakes his head.

'A man driven to the limit of his patience by a Mudblood and an imbecile, that's who.'

He raises his wand and points it at Ron again.

'_Finite Incantatum_.'

There's a few seconds of silence. And then-

'You bastard, Malfoy.'

Lucius turns at Ron's voice and comes to stand next to me. His wand touches lightly at my waist.

'What's your problem?' Ron asks, his voice shaky with hatred. 'Do you get off on hurting people, is that what it is?'

Lucius just chuckles. 'I wouldn't say that I, ah…_'get off' _on it, but I do have to admit that my scruples tend to abandon me when it comes to the Weasley family. I think I proved that during your sister's first year at Hogwarts.'

Ron's face contorts, but he can't do anything while he's pinned to the wall. 'Don't talk about my sister, Malfoy.'

'I'll talk about whomever I please, _how_ever I please. And that includes every last member of your worthless family. Might I remind you that you are scarcely in a position to give me orders.'

Ron breathes heavily, like he's been running. 'I wasn't just talking about me and my family, though,' he says eventually. 'You enjoy hurting Hermione more than me, I can tell. I can only imagine what you've done to her when you've been alone together. And you've got no bloody reason for it – you only do it because she's Muggle-born.'

'Her being Muggle-born only removes any moral dilemma that the situation might present,' Lucius says coldly. 'I have tortured her only because it is my duty. Were you my prisoner, I would show you the same treatment, let me assure you.'

I want to scream – to rail at the bastard's lying face. But I don't. What's the point in hurting Ron with the truth?

'Please don't presume to know anything about me, boy,' Lucius goes on. 'Or about her, for that matter.'

What the hell is _that _supposed to mean?

'What the bloody hell are you talking about?' Ron asks incredulously. 'She's _my_ friend-'

'And she's _my_ prisoner,' Lucius drawls. 'Meaning that I've seen sides to her personality that she would never dream of showing you-'

'I am here, you know!' I shout suddenly.

There's a short pause.

'And who knows that any better than I do?' Lucius mutters. 'Damn, but I'd do anything to be rid of you, once and for all.'

Those words sting more much more than I care to admit.

The door clicks open and Bellatrix strides into the room, closely followed by Dolohov. They're both smiling; laughing, almost.

'Lucius, we have news,' Bellatrix says.

Lucius just raises an eyebrow at her. 'What's going on?'

'They've agreed t our demands,' Dolohov says as he turns to lock the door behind him. 'They've agreed to do whatever we want, whenever we want, and they patiently await our orders. All they ask in return is that we don't hurt their little boy.'

Lucius turns, smirking, to Ron.

'Well, well, well,' he drawls. 'Your parents have agreed to serve the Dark Lord, Weasley. What do you think of that?'

It's like the ground's disappeared under me.

Ron's face goes white. 'But… they wouldn't… they would never-'

'Oh, but they have.' Bellatrix cuts him off. 'And they did it without a moment's hesitation, either. How does it feel, Weasel? You have brought two new servants for the Dark Lord!'

'But they _wouldn't!_' Ron says desperately.

Lucius rolls his eyes. 'Honestly, I would have thought you'd be pleased. Would you rather they'd have turned round and said 'Kill our son; our principles mean more to us than he does'?'

Ron doesn't answer him.

Lucius curls a sneer. 'I didn't think so, somehow.'

'You BASTARDS!' Ron bursts out suddenly. 'They're my _parents_, you sick, sick _fuckers_! I hope you all burn in hell, you evil-'

'_Stupefy!_'

'No!'

The word leaves my mouth as Ron is hit by the red jet of light and falls away from the wall, sprawled on the ground.

I press my lips together, sinking down to the floor, because what can I do about it? They've all got their wands, while I have nothing.

'Thank-you, Antonin. I thought for a moment that we might have to put up with another of his tedious rants. Take him back to his room, and don't bother bringing him round. Just leave him some food for when he eventually wakes up.'

Dolohov open the door and point his wand at Ron, who rises into the air like some kind of lifeless puppet. He floats out of the room in front of Dolohov, who closes the door behind him.

'You _bastards,_' I hiss from the floor, shaken by the depths of my hatred.

My throat closes up.

I open my mouth and try to push some sound out, but I just can't, no matter how hard I try. I can breathe, but I can't speak.

Bellatrix is pointing her wand at me.

'We don't have time for one of your tantrums, Mudblood,' she hisses. 'The boy hasn't been harmed; he's just being kept out of the way for the time being. I would have thought you'd be pleased.'

I open my mouth automatically, but my indignant response comes to nothing because I can't voice it.

Bellatrix turns, smiling, to Lucius. 'It's such a pleasant change when she eventually keeps her mouth shut, don't you agree?'

'Oh Bella, who knows it better than I?' he says, shooting me a sideways glance from under lowered eyelids.

She winds her arms around his neck, pulling him closer to her. He smiles down at her before she plants a kiss on his lips.

My own mouth falls open as he stretches his hands around her waist, pulling her closer to him.

I want to gag.

Isn't he married? To her _sister, _for crying out loud?

But then, after everything he's done to me I shouldn't be surprised that he's not above sleeping with his sister-in-law.

But… why is she doing this in front of me?

She answers my unasked question when she opens her eyes, looking at me out of the corner of her eye as she kisses him.

For some reason, this... _display_ is for my benefit.

He pulls away from her first, keeping hold of her waist as she rests her hand on his cheek.

'You should go to the Dark Lord and tell him the good news,' he murmurs to her, his voice so low that I have to strain to hear him.

'Well, why don't you come with me?' she asks, running a finger down the front of his robes. 'We could let him know together. He would reward us handsomely, I am sure-'

'No.' He pulls away from her, plucking her hand away from his chest. 'I'm afraid not, Bella. I've got, ah… _business_ to deal with here.' He looks at me pointedly, and she turns her head to give me such a horrible look that it actually turns me cold.

'Well that won't take more than five minutes, surely!' she says petulantly. 'I'll wait for you, and then we can go together.'

'No, I think you should go alone,' he says firmly. 'It might help you to re-ingratiate yourself with him if you deliver this news. After all, he has hardly been best pleased with you since all the business at the Department of Mysteries-'

'He hasn't been happy with you either!' she says indignantly.

'No, he hasn't,' he replies calmly, 'but my work with the Mudblood has got me back into his good books, I think.'

'Well I don't see why you need to stay here with her now. You were with her all of yesterday.'

I could almost laugh.

'And I am sorry for it,' he drawls, narrowing his eyes at her. 'But I am afraid that there's no getting around the issue. The Dark Lord has ordered me to punish her for her part in the whole Carrow episode. I can't afford to disobey him, you know that.'

I would kill for the opportunity to speak right now.

'And anyway,' he goes on, 'it was you that dealt with the Weasleys. I had no part in it.' He tucks a finger under her chin and raises her sulking face up to look at him. 'You should go alone, Bella,' he says coaxingly. 'I would not wish to take any credit or reward for something you have done.'

She seems to be taken in by his self-serving lies. She smiles up at him, placated, before planting one final, light kiss on his lips.

'I'll see you later, then.'

She turns away from him, throwing me another glare before leaving the room, closing the door behind her. Lucius flicks his wand after her, and the door clicks as it locks itself.

'So,' he leans against the wall, a tiny smile on his face, 'here we are again, Mudblood. Just me and you, once more.'

I stare at him, hating him.

'Oh, forgive me.' He grins as he raises his wand. 'I quite forgot about your momentary indisposition. _Finite Incantatum._'

It's like my throat has come unstuck.

'Why don't you just go with her?' I hiss as I get to my feet. 'I don't want you here.'

He breathes a small, incredulous laugh. 'Now now, I just want to speak with you. There's no need to be touchy.'

'Touchy!' Touchy is being a little bit on the moody side. Touchy does not even come close to the rage and hatred I feel towards him.'_Touchy?_'

He chuckles. 'You're over-exciting yourself, Mudblood. Calm down.'

'No, I won't calm down!' I snap. 'Just go away. Catch Bellatrix up and go with her. Just leave me alone.'

I turn away from him and lean against the wall, pressing my forehead into the cold stone.

'No,' he says after a while. 'No, I think I'd rather stay here. Bella can be ever so… repetitive.'

I actually let out a tiny snort of laughter as I turn away from the wall to face him again.

He's closer than he was before.

'And I'm not, I suppose? All I do is try to fight against you, break down into tears, and then give in to what you want. If that's not repetition, I don't know what is.'

And he… he doesn't answer me, not right away. He just watches me, and he doesn't come any closer, not yet.

'Yes, indeed,' he says eventually. 'But you have to admit that hatred is so much more… interesting than adoration. For example, I am certain you find me more _interesting_ than your dear friend Weasley, even if you might prefer his company to mine.'

'I'm sure Voldemort himself might be a fascinating psychological study, but that doesn't mean I'd go near him with a bargepole if I had the option!' I retort.

He just smirks, and I almost yell in sheer frustration, but I force myself to channel it into something more useful.

'Tell me, does your wife know that you're sleeping with her sister?'

His face creases into a frown at that.

'What does it matter if she does or she doesn't?' he asks quietly. 'It is not your concern how I treat my wife.'

A long silence spreads out between us. I stare into his cold grey eyes, which are narrowed in anger.

'Why did you tell Ron…' I trail off, not really knowing how to finish that sentence because I'm not sure whether I really want the answer.

'Why did I tell him what?' His voice is quiet.

'You told Ron you'd let the Death Eaters loose on me if he didn't do as you said,' I mumble.

'What does that matter?' he asks. 'What does it matter what he believes? I wouldn't really have done it.'

'I know that!' I feel my face blooming in spite of myself. 'But it was so… low of you, to use a sick trick like that to make him talk!'

'Well, it was just too good an opportunity to pass up!' A small, malicious smile twitches onto his face. 'You should have seen the look on his face as I described exactly what I would let them do to you-'

'You unimaginable _bastard!_'

I lunge at him, humiliation and rage pounding in my ears.

But I freeze before I can reach him, frozen to the spot by his wand. And all of a sudden he's standing over me. All I can move is my head. He smiles, running a finger down my cheek.

'There's no need to be angry. You know that your body is, ah… _sacred _to me.'

I press my lips together.

'Now, are you going to behave yourself if I let you move again?' he asks quietly.

I swallow down my indignation and I nod. He smiles wider, and he flicks his wand at me. I stumble as the curse leaves me, but he grabs me by the arm, holding me upright.

He doesn't let go, even as I regain my footing.

'I have to say, I found myself… touched as you defended me against your friend's accusations.' He smirks. 'I never knew you cared.'

'I don't care about _you_!' I wrench my arm out of his grip.

'Of course you don't.' He reaches up and winds his fingers through my hair. 'That's why you denied his allegations so vehemently. Why didn't you just let him believe the worst of me?'

'Because I didn't want to hurt _him!_' I hiss. 'Not that I'd expect _you_ to understand that!'

'An admirable sentiment,' he says mockingly, 'but if that is the case, then why did you tell him about what Antonin tried to do to you?'

I pause then, just for a second.

'I just…' I trail off, not really knowing what to say.

He smirks all the wider, removing his hand from my hair. 'So you didn't want to hurt him. Or maybe you're just growing _fond_ of me-'

'SHUT UP!' I scream, raising my hand to slap him, but he grabs it before it can reach him, his smile vanishing as he pulls me closer.

'You _still _dare to raise a hand to me?' he asks. 'I thought that yesterday had taught you some obedience, or at least some remorse for your actions when we first arrived here-'

'Well you thought wrong, didn't you? Do you really think I would have done as you'd said yesterday if you hadn't forced me into it? And as for stabbing you, I'm glad I did it, do you hear me? I'm only sorry that I missed and got you in the arm instead of in the neck-'

He puts his hand to my throat and slams me against the wall. My mouth is pulled back into a kind of horrible grin as he looks at me long and hard.

'I see,' he says quietly. 'So it appears that I _did _waste my time, after all.'

He looks at me for a few moments before he steps back from me, releasing my throat. I fall away from the wall, massaging my neck as he points his wand at the floor, where a plate appears holding a loaf of bread, a bowl of soup and a goblet of water.

'I shall be back in half an hour,' he says curtly. 'It appears that we have more work to do than I thought. I expect you to finish your meal before I return.'

He pulls the tiny key out of his robes and transports himself out of here.

_You mustn't panic. Whatever he does to you, it can't be any worse than he's done already._

Yeah, right.

I sit down on the floor with my plate of food, more to put off my fear than anything else, and I find myself reluctantly enjoying every last mouthful of it.


	10. Power Struggle

'_Stars, hide your fires, let not light see my black and deep desires.'_ – William Shakespeare, _Macbeth_

* * *

'_Nox!_'

A muttered incantation.

I open my eyes.

I can't have been asleep, can I? I only closed my eyes for a second!

The light has gone out.

I didn't even hear him come in. He's been gone for so long I'd started to think that he'd changed his mind about coming back at all.

I scramble to my feet in the darkness.

'_Petrificus totalus!_'

All of my limbs snap together and I fall _smack _onto my back. Tiny lights burst in front of my eyes, but I can't cry out through the wire that's sealed up my jaw.

I can't move...

...can't _see_...

I can only hear: hear that low, mocking chuckle.

'A simple little spell, but so effective, wouldn't you agree?'

_click _

_click _

_click_

The sound of his boots comes closer, stopping right next to my head.

'My, but this is certainly an improvement,' he drawls. 'It's such a pleasure not to have to put up with your tedious whining; your incessant need to prove your _strength_ to me. I see you standing up straight with pride. I see you looking me in the eye, pretending you are my equal.'

He pauses.

'Well, now you are where you belong: on the ground at my feet. Useless, helpless, with such a delicious amount of fear in your eyes. Oh yes, I can see you. The Hand of Glory is a marvellous tool. So don't fool yourself that you can hide in the darkness.'

I feel his robes brush over me.

'It's _darkness _that shows us what we really are, Mudblood,' he murmurs. 'In the dark, one can be whoever one wishes to be.'

His footsteps move to the other side of the room.

_click _

_click _

_click_

'You are at _my_ mercy,' he says quietly, with relish. 'That is something you never been able to understand. I am the one in control here, and I always have been. But still you continue in your insufferable insolence. Still you continue to fight against me, telling yourself that you are my equal.'

There's a long silence.

'By God, you will learn your place, by the time I am finished with you.'

He pauses again, letting the words sink in.

No. No, I won't accept it. He can't _make _me.

His footsteps come closer again, and I _feel_ him crouch down next to me.

'I think I'll leave you like that for the time being,' he says negligently, running his wand down my cheek. 'It gives you no other option but to stay still, to stay quiet, and to _listen _for once.'

He stands up and walks away from me. I press my eyes into the darkness in a will to see something, _anything_…

'I am going to talk,' he says quietly, 'and you are going to listen.'

Only if I _choose_ to…

'I want you to think back, back to when you were eleven years old, when you first received your letter of acceptance from Hogwarts.' He pauses for a second. 'I want you to think about how you felt when you opened that letter.'

What kind of game is this?

It doesn't matter. All that matters is that I don't think about it, because if I think about it I'll be letting him mess with my mind…

But in this horrible paralysed darkness I can't help _but_ think about it. His words are all there is for me in the world at this moment, and I feel my brain working in spite of myself.

How did I feel?

Really, really excited. I can remember it now. I mean, I discovered that there _was _such a thing as magic, after all, that it didn't just exist in fairy tales. Not only that, but I could do it. Me! Hermione Granger. I was special, really special for the first time in my life.

But I was… I mean, at first I didn't really know whether to believe it. I had a horrible feeling that someone was playing some kind of trick on me. That it was a joke, or something.

'I imagine that it came as quite a surprise.' His voice cuts through the dark. 'You didn't even know that magic _existed_ before your letter arrived, I'll be bound.'

Well, no, of course I didn't, but I can't be blamed for that! I'm muggle-born – of _course_ I didn't know that magic existed.

'You grew up without magic,' he says. 'You grew up with muggles. You didn't even know what magic _was_ until you were eleven years old.'

And suddenly there's a searing pain across my scalp, and my hair's being pulled by the roots, and I can't even flinch against the pain.

'What _right_ had you to come into the magical world?' he murmurs, his voice a metallic rasp now directly in my ear. 'What right had _you _to magic? When countless pureblooded families had to work tirelessly for generations to keep magic alive, suffering persecution from muggles too afraid to admit their own inferiority, what gives a muggle – _any_ muggle – the right to walk into a world that's ours by right of blood?'

He pauses, loosening his fingers from my hair.

'But you don't believe me, of course,' he says quietly. 'I can see that staring back at me from that open mind of yours. Well think about this: did you ever have any indication that you were different from the other muggle children you were no doubt surrounded by?'

_Damn._

I know what he's talking about. People at school would talk about it – random performances of magic that they managed as a child without even meaning to.

But… I don't know whether _I _did. I mean, I would remember, wouldn't I?

No. There must have been something, anything. Something unusual that I couldn't explain…

There must have been _something_!

'You can't name such an occassion, can you?' His voice drips with malice. 'You never _once_ performed any accidental magic, I'll be bound. Well, I can't blame you for that - it's only to be expected, after all. And do you know why?'

_I'm sure that you're going to tell me._

'Because you do not have any right to study magic, that's why.I daresay even that idiot Longbottom managed some accidental magic before he arrived at Hogwarts.'

_Neville's not an idiot-_

But… I remember at the Hogwarts feast, Neville telling us all about how his Uncle dropped him out of the window and he bounced down the garden. I remember Harry telling me about when he flew up onto the roof of his school.

Why can't I remember anything like that?

_Because not every witch or wizard is the same. It doesn't mean anything. People told you that you were the best witch in your year – don't forget it._

Lucius Malfoy's words don't mean anything. They're empty noises. Meaningless. I won't listen to them.

A warm hand brushes onto my cheek.

I wish he wouldn't do that.

But it goes on, his long fingers circling over the side of my face, and his thumb… gently brushing my cheek...

I move the one part of my body I can still move – I close my eyes.

A small sting crosses my cheek as he slaps it with the same hand that brushed it just a second ago.

'Keep your eyes open.'

I do as he says, and I feel his brain seep into mine, just for a second, as he reads my thoughts.

'Of course. You still cling on to the fact that you were considered to be _'the best in your year'_ at Hogwarts. And of course people said that. You worked hard. You memorised every spell and could perform magic perfectly, with no flaws whatsoever. But what you need to ask yourself is this – would you have been able to perform magic so well if you didn't work as hard as you did?'

I…

I don't know. How _can_ I know the answer to that question? I've always been a hard worker – it's all I've ever known.

Although, I suppose, I did feel that I had to work harder at Hogwarts than I did at primary school. There just seemed to be so much to catch up on.

'You're beginning to listen, aren't you?' He breathes a small, satisfied chuckle. 'You're beginning to realise that I might have a point, after all.'

_Shut up! I'll never believe what you tell me, never, never, never._

I hear him stand up.

'So, you still don't believe me?'

He walks around me, slowly.

_Click._

_Click._

_Click._

'I wonder, did you ever speculate as to _why _you had to work so hard? Did you ever consider that you might be pushing yourself so far because you had to make up for the fact that magic didn't come naturally to you? Think about it – out of you and your two best friends, you were the only one without any magical blood in you, and consequently you were the one who had to work the hardest.'

But I didn't _have _to work the hardest – I chose to!

Didn't I?

I WON'T listen to him!

'Magic is hereditary,' he murmurs. 'There is no other way of looking at it. That you somehow managed to gain yourself some basic magical power is… unfortunate, but it does not give you the right to call yourself a witch.'

I don't believe you.

I _won't _believe you.

'It is not a toy to be played with by filthy Muggles. It is a privilege, one that should only be practiced only by those deemed worthy by their blood.'

_Don't listen. It's twisted, pure-blood logic. That's all it is._

His wand trails down my cheek again.

My breath catches in my throat.

'You are a muggle-lover's experiment. An unfortunate victim of so-called equal opportunity. Nothing more.'

He stands up.

'I am going to prove to you just how unworthy to practice magic you actually are.'

And then I feel a huge shiver run through me, and my muscles all relax.

'Get up.'

I pull myself up into a sitting position, feeling the ache as my muscles ease into action.

'I meant for you to stand up, Mudblood,' he says, with a tiny hint of a chuckle, 'amusing as it is to see you squirm by my feet.'

_Shut up!_

I stand up quickly, looking out into the darkness with as much pride as I can muster.

It's no easy task when I can't even see what… _who _I'm trying to look at.

'Do you believe that you are worthy to practice magic?' he asks.

'Yes.' I glare right in front of me, hoping that he's in my eye-line. 'I'm just as worthy to practice magic as you are. I'm sorry if your belief that muggle-borns are lower than you has given you a false sense of purpose, but there's no way of getting around it. Magic is not _always_ hereditary, and I have as much right to it as you do.'

There's a long, drawn out silence.

_Breathe in…_

_Breathe out…_

I wish I could see his face.

'Would you prefer it if there was some light in here?' His voice looms out of the darkness.

Does he even have to ask that?

'Yes.'

'Well, then - I am sure that a _witch _of your calibre should be able to cast a simple _Lumos _spell.'

'Are you…' I swallow sharply, my throat very dry. 'Are you going to give me a wand?'

He chuckles. 'Of course not. You insult my intelligence by even suggesting such a thing.'

_But…_

'How do you expect me to cast a spell if I don't have a wand?'

'Observe, Mudblood.'

And then there's a long, spiraling silence. I would think that he's gone, but I can hear his light breathing through the dark.

And then there's light.

Only a small ball of light, but light nonetheless, resting in a glowing orb in his free hand, and for a moment I can see his face, smirking in triumph as he watches me over the top of it.

He closes his hand around the orb, plunging the room into darkness once again.

_Oh, all right. Well bloody done.  
_

'Now I want you to try to do the same.'

But…

_But what? You can do this! It's just like casting a silent spell._

This is different! If I couldn't even do wand-less magic as a child, when it's just so common, apparently, then how am I meant to do it now… in _here_?

In front of _him_?

'I have all the time in the world, Mudblood. I know that this is probably the most difficult thing you have ever had to do – this is, after all, a matter of _being_, not something you can just memorise from a book. You just take your time.'

I take a deep breath to control my temper, and I close my eyes.

_Think, think hard… _

Light, sunshine, electricity, moonlight_… _

_How does wandless magic feel, anyway_?

Come on, concentrate!

_Lumos… _

I look, but there's nothing

_Never mind, try again_…

I concentrate on light penetrating the darkness_… _

_This horrible endless darkness_-

THINK!

_Lumos_!

No, nothing… Try again_…_

_Lumos_…

'_Lumos!'_ I whisper the word. I open my eyes, and…

Pure, unbroken darkness.

He chuckles. 'You can't do it, can you? You just don't have the ability.'

God, this is humiliating.

'That doesn't mean that I'm not a witch!' I say indignantly. 'Not everyone's the same. Plenty of people never do any kind of magic until they're trained to do it.'

'That is only the case for Mudbloods and Squibs. You cannot do wandless magic because you have no real magic power in you. You can do magic _with_ a wand, yes, but not without. And _that_ is the crucial difference. A wand is a magical device. Real magical ability comes from within the witch or the wizard.'

'That's not true!' I say. 'Loads of pure-blood children can't do magic without a wand. And even if they can, they only do it when they're pushed into it-'

I stop myself there, clamping my lips shut.

But it's too late.

There's a long silence, and all I can hear is my heart beat_._

Is he still here?

A red light shoots out of nowhere and fills the lantern on the ceiling. Dark red light fills the room, and now I can see him, standing on the other side of the room, a small smirk on his face. He points his wand at the Hand of Glory, and the candle it holds goes out before the whole thing shrinks to the size of a pebble before he drops it into the pocket of his robes.

And then he looks up at me.

'Pushed into it, you say?' He walks over to me, slowly. 'Alright, Mudblood, I'll make a deal with you.'

He reaches me and he raises his hand to my cheek, brushing my hair away from my face.

'I am going to try and 'push' you into doing some wandless magic,' he says quietly. 'If a magical reaction is provoked in you, then I shall probably end up getting hurt in some way, but I give you my full permission to do that. Do you understand me? I am so certain that you will be unable to perform any wandless magic that I am giving you permission to cause me harm.'

He drops his hand from my hair and runs his wand down my cheek.

'Are you ready, Mudblood?'

I lift my head. 'More than you can ever believe.'

I say it quite calmly.

He smirks.

And then he raises his wand…

And I'm lifted up into the air, and I _slam _back into the wall. All of my bones are broken, surely to god, and I cry out as I crumple down on the floor.

He turns and walks to the other side of the room, spinning on his heel and pointing his wand at me.

'_Crucio!_'

No. Noooooooo! Please _stop_, I can't BEAR it! Everything _hurts_, feeling, living, being. Knives and nails and saws are being DRILLED into my _nerves,_ please please _please_ make it STOP-

I collapse on the floor as the curse leaves me, and he's standing over me. I can see his black polished boots.

And then he grabs me by the hair, and all I can see is his smirking face.

'Nothing? Nothing at all?'

_Come on, think!  
_

'_Expelliarmus_!' I whisper, focusing on his wand leaving his hand.

He just laughs at me and pulls my face closer to his.

'You can't do anything if it's not taught to you by a book, can you?'

He throws me to the ground.

'Perhaps you just haven't been _pushed_ hard enough,' he says coldly.

A jet of black light flies out of his wand, shoots towards my neck.

And I can't breathe. I'm choking, gasping, there's something strangling me and I can't breathe at all. I kick my legs out, scratch at my own throat with my hands, but nothing can take it away, nothing, oh _god_…

'Why don't you try to stop me?' His voice comes from far away. 'Any real witch would be able to stop me, why can't you?'

_Think… think!_

I CAN'T think!

Just as tiny black spots start to appear in my eyes the gag leaves me and I'm gasping, choking on air and he's laughing at me.

'Do you perhaps begin to understand that you don't have any real trace of magic in you? Any _real_ witch would feel the magic within her reacting instinctively to such treatment.'

He reaches down and wrenches my head up by my hair to face him.

'So tell me, can you feel any kind of magical power running through you right now?'

I focus so hard, trying with all of my might to force it. Every nerve in my body burns with the effort.

But if I were able to do it I'd have done it when he first started to torture me, surely?

He smiles.

'But, of course, you just can't feel it, can you? And do you know why that is?'

I know what he wants me to say, but he can go to hell if he thinks I'm going to give in to him _again_.

'It means that I just don't happen to be able to do wandless magic,' I say, my voice shaking. 'It doesn't have anything to do with the fact that I'm muggle born. I was the best in my year at Hogwarts - that has to say something about my magical ability.'

He sneers. 'Even _Weasley_ can do wandless magic,' he drawls. 'I saw it happen. Just the once. Bellatrix was being a little… forceful with her questioning of the boy, and she suddenly fell backwards, clutching at her stomach even though she hadn't been touched. How does that feel, Mudblood? Your brainless little friend is more magically adept than you.'

'And do you know why that is?' I ask furiously. 'It's because he's _not_ brainless. He's a great wizard – a far better wizard than _you'll_ ever be.'

And I don't regret saying that. Even though his face is losing the small amount of colour it has in rage, I don't regret saying it at all.

'And why would you say that?' he asks quietly.

'Because he's _good_,' I say proudly, 'and because he's kind. You might patronize him, and call him stupid, young, and poor, but you're not fit to lick Ron Weasley's boots.'

The corners of his mouth just twitch up slightly, as if I've said something that both amuses and enrages him.

And then I feel his hand whip across my cheek in a slap.

'So,' he says, his voice quiet and his face full of malicious amusement, 'you dare to suggest that I am lower than that pathetic _boy_, do you?'

'You _are _lower than him!' I hiss. 'What else do you expect me to think? He's one of the best people I know. You – I hate _you_ more than anything else in the world!'

And that horrible, mirthless smirk disappears.

And then I see his fist…

And then I feel pain.

I feel everything break, everything, and I cry out, but he keeps hold of the front of my robes

'Believe me, Mudblood, the feeling is entirely mutual,' he hisses.

I can taste blood in my mouth.

I reel my head back to face him again. He holds me close for a moment.

And then…

He reaches out, trailing his fingers down my face again, delicately skating them down my cheek.

'You always think to bring yourself up to my level,' he murmurs. 'But _I_ am the one in control here; you know this. I don't see why you feel the need to try and persuade me otherwise.'

He rests his fingers on my jaw, looking intently into my face…

And for some reason I find myself talking.

'Why do you do that?'

A hard look creeps into his eyes and he drops his hand from my face, still holding on to the front of my robes.

'Why do I do _what_, exactly?'

It has to be said.

I take a deep breath.

'Why do you… touch me?' My voice is very wobbly, but I manage to push myself onwards. 'You said once that you didn't want to touch me any more than you had to, but now you do it all the time. You're always touching me, and when you do it's like…'

I trail off. His face is so full of cold, still rage that it terrifies me.

'Like… what?' He's almost whispering.

I will _not_ be afraid.

'You like to think that you have complete control over me. But secretly you know that you don't. There's _one_ way in which you won't let yourself have absolute power over me. You know that. You can't have complete control over me in _that _way because I'm muggle-born, and it would go against everything you believe in to go that far.'

I know that I should stop, I know it, because he looks so angry right now that he almost looks inhuman.

But I don't stop.

'And I think you can't stand it,' I say quietly. 'You can't _stand _that you can't have complete control over me, and so you use touch as a means of imitation, as a way of gaining some measure of power over me in the one way that you can't…'

I trail off, stopping myself from going any further, because I've pushed it too far, I know it. He's actually shaking with rage.

Oh god, what have I done?

He pulls back from me and slams me into the wall.

_Shit, OW! _Thunderbolts and pain and HATRED pound through my body.

He slams his hands onto my shoulders, pushing me into the stone.

'So, I want control over you, do I?' he hisses. 'I want power over your _body_, is that what you're suggesting?' He laughs mirthlessly before he slaps me hard across the face with the back of his hand. 'You pathetic little _bitch! _Do you really think that I'd ever _consider_ you in that way?'

He pummels his fist into my stomach and I double over, collapsing onto the ground.

'You are _filth!_' His voice is harsh with rage. 'You are _nothing_! What right have you to say such things to me?'

I'm crying, crying in front of him again like I promised myself I would never do, screaming as he kicks out at me again, and again, before turning and walking to the other side of the room.

_THINK, Hermione!  
_

He turns around and raises his wand at me.

'_Crucio!_'

Oh, _nooooooooo!_ Please, I can't do this anymore! I just want it to stop, please, make it stop, I'm BURNING!

I'm shivering, whimpering on the ground when the curse leaves me.

He wrenches me up and slams me against the wall again.

Hate. Hate. HATE.

'You useless, worthless mudblood! You can't even do the tiniest amount of wandless magic to protect yourself. What kind of _witch_ are you? You're _pathetic_, do you hear me?'

And I try to think, but I can't _think_ anymore. I just _feel_. Pain, hatred, agony, humiliation.

He slaps me hard across the face.

'By god, you _will _learn your place!'

HATE. HATE. HATE.

I crumple to the ground, but he stands over me, and he's not finished yet.

I feel my eyes burn again, burn like they did in my cell when they tried to get me to tell them about Harry's family…

I scream with the pain, pressing my fingers to my burning, bleeding eyeballs.

'_No_!' I scream, and he lifts the curse from me.

He's laughing at me.

HATE HATE HATE HATE HATE.

'What do you want?' he asks maliciously.

'I want you to _stop_!' I whimper, forgetting my pride and everything else, everything else that just doesn't _matter _if he'd only leave me _alone_!

He laughs again, wrenches me up by the arm and presses me into the wall, so close, just like he was the other day, in that one moment when he let me think that he would-

'But I thought you _wanted_ to be able to do some wandless magic, Miss Granger.'

'My name's Hermione,' I whisper.

The laughter dies from his face and he pulls my head back and slams it into the wall, breaking it, smashing it.

HATE, HATE, HATE.

Pain. Unending pain.

'You worthless Muggle _bitch_!' he hisses. 'What right have you to a first name? You are less than dirt. Your name is Mudblood; you deserve no other title.'

HATE HATE HATE HATE HATE.

I feel electricity shoot up through all of my body. It courses through me, flies through my nerves, my blood.

He comes all the closer to me and I feel his whisper harsh in my ear, full of mocking laughter.

'You are useless. Worthless. I don't need to prove to you how worthless you are – if you don't know it already then there's no helping you.'

_Oh just FUCK OFF! Leave me alone leave me alone!_

He wrenches my head round to face him again, and he looks at me for a moment…

And then he slaps me again.

I can't bloody _stand _that. Even _cruciatus_ is preferable.

I hate him so so _so _much.

The electricity flies through me, coursing through my veins.

_Focus, Hermione! Channel it!_

He chuckles cruelly.

'As if I'd _ever _touch you,' he murmurs, 'you piece of muggle _scum_!'

HATEHATEHATEHATEHATEHATEHATE-

The electricity shoots out of me, through my fingertips, and suddenly he flies backwards, flies away from me across the room, back, and back…

He lands on the ground at the other side of the room, sprawled on the stone floor.

I look at him blankly through my tears, getting my breath back as I watch him pick himself up.

_Oh my god._

I look down at my hands, spreading my fingers out as I stare at them incredulously.

That… that was me!

I did it!

_I did it! _

'Ha!'

I let out a tiny gasp of amazed laughter, because that was me, _me!_

He stands up, pointing his wand at me.

I press myself back into the wall, because he still has his wand, and that out-weighs everything.

But despite the pain and the agony that holds on to my body, I'm smiling. I'm smiling because he hasn't won, not this time.

_I've_ won.

And he knows it.

'You…' he splutters, his face harsh with anger. 'You little…'

But it doesn't matter what he says, not anymore.

'I told you!' I whisper.

He storms over to me and he wrenches me up by the hair.

He looks down into my face, pointing his wand directly into it, and he looks so angry but I just don't care. He's lost this one.

'Damn it!' he hisses. '_Damn it!_'

He lets go of my hair and grabs hold of my arm, pulling the tiny key out of his robes and holding it up.

'The west bedroom.'

And we're pressing into a tiny space, floating through blackness…

We come to land in my bedroom. Well no, not _my _bedroom, but the bedroom I have been given. The plain stone room with the bed, the wardrobe, the dressing table and the bathroom.

He flicks his wand at me, and I collapse to the floor as all of my muscles become completely lifeless.

And he… he picks me up, and he carries me over to my bed, laying me down on its soft covers.

It's then I start to panic.

But… he just sits down on the bed, and he summons the bottle of healing lotion over from my dressing table. He dabs it on my face with his bare fingers, all over the new cuts and bruises he has no doubt inflicted on me in the last hour. When he's finished he points his wand at me, and a warmth spreads over my body, making all the pain and all of the hurt go away.

What the hell is he doing?

He leans over me, his face above mine as he presses his wand into my ribs.

'I am going to allow you to move now,' he says quietly. 'But you are to stay perfectly still. If you so much as twitch, I shall Crucio you until you don't even remember your own name.'

I feel a tiny shudder run through me as the curse lifts. He presses his wand further into my ribs, and I spread my fingers on the bed-cover. But apart from that I don't move a muscle.

'A little magic means nothing, Mudblood,' he says quietly. 'That you can _perform _magic doesn't give you any _right_ to practice it. Your blood still renders you unworthy to perform even the most basic spell, do you understand me?'

And I nod, because it doesn't matter anymore. He's not winning now. He knows that he isn't.

Not that _I'm _winning of course. He's far stronger than me and he has his wand. And right now, I only feel fear. The pain, the rage that pushed me on before, they're gone to be replaced only by terror.

And fear isn't enough. I can't feel any of the electricity pounding through me now.

He presses his wand further into my ribs and he leans right over me, his chest touching mine through my… _our _robes, and I can feel his breath light on my face.

_Please, don't._

His free hand brushes over my cheek, his fingers gently grazing my face, slowly.

I suppress a shiver.

And then he moves his hand down, down between… between my _breasts_, and further down-

_Don't!_

But when he reaches my stomach he shifts his hand sideways, and it… _his hand_ eventually comes to rest on my hip, pressing it down into the soft mattress underneath me…

Underneath _us_…

I hold my breath involuntarily as he holds me beneath him, his hand pressing down on my hip, his wand still digging into my ribs.

'I don't think I need to remind you that I am the one in control here.' His voice is so quiet, almost whispering_._

I'm holding my breath.

'Do you understand that, Mudblood?' He leans in even closer to me, his breath brushing my face. '_I _have power over _you_.'

I nod.

_Right now you do, anyway. But whatever you do, you know that I'm magical now. You _know.

He waits a few seconds.

His breathing is heavier than it was before.

He gets up off of the bed, pointing his wand at me still.

'In any case, it is of no importance,' he says coldly. 'After all – what is life, if not a series of fleeting _memories?_'

What… no… he _can't_…

He can.

'You coward!' I whisper.

A muscle goes in his jaw.

'Believe what you like about me, Mudblood,' he says quietly. 'It is of no consequence to me.'

He raises his wand.

No-

'_Obliviate!_'

I bolt up.

I can't have been asleep, can I? I only closed my eyes for a second!

But wait a minute, I'm… I'm… on my bed?

I look around me and… I'm back in my room. Well no, not _my _bedroom, but the bedroom I've been given.

But… when…?

And… _he's_ here, standing on the other side of the room, watching me with a face devoid of expression.

'I have brought you back to your room,' he says quietly. 'I do not have any more time to waste on you.'

But… I don't understand…

'When did you bring me here?'

'Just now,' he says. 'You were sleeping when I returned, and so I brought you back here.'

But… I don't remember falling asleep…

Did I, though, without realizing? I was just resting my eyes for a minute, just after I'd finished the food he left for me.

'Why didn't I wake up?'

'Why didn't you wake up when I first brought you to this room after I locked you in the cupboard downstairs?' he says impatiently. 'I have ways of keeping you asleep when it benefits me.'

He walks over to the door.

'It's late,' he says curtly. 'You should get some sleep.'

But… if I've been asleep already then why…?

He opens the door and he leaves the room, slamming it shut and locking it behind him.

I sit still on my bed, staring in silence at the closed door.

I shake my head.

I get up off my bed and I go into the bathroom, running myself a scalding hot bath so that I can wash the memories of the cellar away.


	11. Breakthrough

'_If I be sane, then surely it is maddening to think that of all the foul things that lurk in this hateful place the Count is the least dreadful to me; that to him alone I can look for safety, even though this be only whilst I can serve his purpose.' – _Bram Stoker, _Dracula_

* * *

I scrub hard at the filthy ground with the ragged old cloth they've given me, trying to scrape away the dirt that cakes the floor boards. They're so thick with solid filth that it's taken me what feels like hours just to be able to tell what the original colour of the floor might be. My fingers are puckered up from the cold, filthy water that fills the bucket I have to plunge my hands into repeatedly. My back aches like mad and my neck is sore…

But at least I've got Ron with me.

Bellatrix came to my room this morning and told me that the parlour floor needed cleaning, and that Ron and I were going to give the house-elves a day off by doing it ourselves.

It was a few minutes after I arrived here when I realised that it's the same room that Lucius and I entered when we first arrived here. The room in which I stabbed him. The room in which I changed everything between us, made it personal…

_But surely to god it was personal before that? He tortured you half to death, for God's sake!_

I take a deep breath and push all thoughts of Lucius away.

There's no furniture in here this time, though, and there are none of those strange, horrible objects that littered the floor when I was last here. It must have been cleared away since my arrival.

They've locked us in here. They come in every hour or so to check on our progress, but apart from that it's just me and Ron left alone in here.

I am grateful for it. It means that we can talk freely, at least, and help each-other through the simple yet humiliating task of having to clean up for these bastards.

'Obviously,' Ron says for about the tenth time this morning, afternoon, whatever time it is, 'what's happened is that mum and dad must have told the Death-Eaters that they'll work for them, whereas really they're spying for the Order.'

I give a non-committal murmur.

'I mean, they'd never serve You Know Who, for God's sake!' He laughs a little hysterically. 'They just wouldn't.'

'Of course they wouldn't,' I say quietly, steadfastly scrubbing at the floor.

Ron carries on muttering, half to me, half to himself. I think I hear the words 'wouldn't ever', and 'spying for the Order' again.

I feel so awful for him. I can only imagine how guilty he must be feeling…

_Yes, you can. You feel that guilt every damn minute of every damn day._

I push that thought away, bury it deep inside of me.

_What's the point? It'll come back to haunt you later, as you try to sleep. It always does…_

'Do you know who we bumped into when Lucius brought me down here?' I say, more to drive out my own thoughts than anything else.

Ron doesn't look up from the patch of floor he's working on. 'Who?'

'Draco's mum.'

Narcissa Malfoy. _His _wife.

'Oh.' He doesn't seem nearly as interested in the subject as I am. 'Malfoy – the ferret, I mean – he wasn't with her, was he?'

'No. It was just her, I think.'

'Is she staying here as well, then?'

'No, I don't think so. She was dropping something off for her husband, or something like that.'

There's a short silence. The only noise comes from the scraping of brush over wood.

'Do you reckon it's just us, Malfoy, Bellatrix and Dolohov staying here, then?'

I sigh. 'I guess so.'

What I don't tell Ron is about how it took all of my will-power not to tell Narcissa about her husband and her sister. About how I couldn't stand how the pair of them were just standing there, talking with her. About how it seemed perfectly obvious from her attitude to the pair of them that she has absolutely no idea what's going on.

I don't tell Ron this, because he'll only want to know why I didn't tell her.

To be honest, even _I _don't know the answer to that.

It's just… well, I don't have any reason to hurt _her _do I? She hasn't done anything to me. It's not her fault that she's married to a monster, I suppose.

_She married him in the first place, didn't she?_

That's not the point. She probably doesn't even know him that well – why the hell would she have married him if she knew what he was really like?

Besides, it's not really my business, is it?

'I remember her from the Quidditch World Cup,' Ron mutters, pummelling violently at the floor with his rag. 'Does she still look like she's got a piece of shit under her nose and a pole up her arse?'

I laugh, almost guiltily. 'Well, she gave me a filthy look when she saw me. She said; 'This would be the Mudblood, I presume?''

Ron exhales angrily. 'Bloody cow.'

I don't say anything to that. To be honest, given the choice between spending time with Narcissa Malfoy or her bloody husband, I know which one I'd pick. She seems pretty harmless, in comparison.

She can't possibly know what he's been doing to me. I'm sure that she doesn't, otherwise she'd have taken more of an interest in me than she did today, surely.

As it was, she just looked through me as if I were a pane of glass. I was nothing to her. Just a speck of mud that happened to be in her line of sight.

She's beautiful, though, I'll give her that. Really beautiful.

They look really good together, her and Lucius. The ultimate ice couple. Cold, haughty, elegant, blonde, with an almost identical sneer on their faces.

'She looks almost exactly like her husband, doesn't she?' I say absently. 'It's weird. They're so alike in manner and appearance that they might almost be brother and sister.'

Ron snorts with laughter. 'Maybe they _are _brother and sister. Who knows how far pure-blood fanatics will go to keep their blood clean?'

The smile is wiped off my face as the door swings open and Lucius strides into the room, sweeping his haughty gaze across the floor.

Ron and I both freeze and look up at him, but Lucius rests his eyes on mine.

'You're not making brilliant progress in here, are you? I would have thought that a Mudblood and a Weasley should be quick to adapt to servant's work.'

_Oh, just shut _up!

I look nervously at Ron, half expecting him to flare up. But he doesn't. He just presses his lips together and goes back to scrubbing furiously at the floor.

Lucius breathes a small malicious laugh at him. 'There's no need for that, boy. _You _have finished your work in here for today.'

He gestures to the open door behind him.

'You shall wash the floor in the corridor outside, while the Mudblood shall continue the work the pair of you have already begun in here. Antonin is in there already, waiting to supervise you.'

Ron looks at Lucius as if he'd like to watch him suffer torments indescribable. Lucius just smirks at him.

'Please,' I pipe up nervously. Lucius' gaze flicks over onto me. 'Please… can't he stay here? We'd get everything clean a lot quicker if we worked together.'

Lucius smiles all the wider.

'Oh you think so, do you?' he drawls. 'I'm afraid that I cannot agree. It seems to me that the two of you will work a lot more productively if you do not have each-other's company to distract you.'

'Oh, come on!' Ron says exasperatedly. 'What does it matter how quickly we get this place clean for you? I mean, who the fuck cares how clean this dump is? Who's ever going to want to visit it?'

I press my lips together to stop myself from smiling. Lucius notices my expression, and his gaze narrows before he turns and flicks his wand at Ron.

'_Imperio!_'

Ron's eyes go completely blank, and a tiny smile appears on his face.

'Stand up,' Lucius mutters under his breath.

Ron stumbles to his feet, his movements oddly laboured.

'You don't have to do that!' I say indignantly, but Lucius turns to me, his wand still on Ron.

'Be quiet, Mudblood, or I shall be forced to persuade him to leave the room the hard way.'

And so I keep still, and I keep silent, and I watch as Ron walks dreamily out of the door, as he shuts the door behind him, and as Lucius flicks his wand at the door to lock it.

'That was unnecessary,' I say quietly.

He turns his cold gaze onto me. 'Why?'

'You didn't have to curse him into leaving. He would have done as you said if you asked him nicely.'

'I am not prepared to waste good manners on a Weasley,' he says coldly. 'It would be like casting pearls before swine. Now, I want you to clean this floor for me, and I want you to do it in silence. Can you do that for me, my little Mudblood? Can you manage to hold your tongue and do something productive with yourself, for once?'

I grit my teeth against the flare of temper that threatens to erupt in my chest and I nod.

Bastard. Bloody bloody bastard. Does he ever get tired of being so completely and utterly _foul_?

I slam my fist into the bucket of water and slap the cold cloth onto the ground, my ears burning and my breathing harsh. No-one has ever made me as angry as Lucius Malfoy makes me. Not his bloody son, or Lavender Brown, or Snape, or Pansy bloody Parkinson, or Rita Skeeter, or Umbridge. I've never, ever hated anyone as much as I hate _him!_

He's _watching _me. I can see him out of the corner of my eye, watching me clean the floor.

_Yes, that's right. Gloat, why don't you?_

And he does – with words.

'I have to say,' he drawls, 'it's such a pleasant suprise to see you exercising some obedience for a change.'

_Go away._

'Perhaps,' he says idly, 'when the Dark Lord triumphs we could allow _some_ of the Mudbloods to live, after all. They might make rather effective replacements for house-elves, don't you think?'

I raise my head.

'So… what? You're saying that if you lot win you're just going to murder every single muggle-born? You're not even going to give them a chance?'

Something rips across my forearm.

I swallow down, and when I flick up I gasp the sleeve of my robe there's a small gash on my arm. Not too deep, but just deep enough to bleed, ever-so slightly.

I glare at him. He just smirks at me, his wand twirling leisurely between his fingers.

'I believe that I told you that you weren't allowed to speak,' he drawls.

'But you just-'

Another gash cuts across the one he's already made, deeper this time. Tears come to my eyes.

'Oh dear.' He smirks at me still. 'You just don't seem to be able to understand what I'm saying. And you do know how I dislike it when you don't do as I say.'

I gulp down my tears and I drop my gaze, scrubbing hard at the floor.

'But I believe I can answer your previous question,' he says maliciously. 'I see no harm in that.'

_Just go. Go away and leave me alone before I say something that I'll regret._

'The original plan was to destroy all of the muggle-borns as soon as the war was won,' he drawls horribly. 'But now that I have seen just how effectively Mudbloods can do the work of house-elves, perhaps I might suggest to the Dark Lord that we allow some of them to live so that they can share some of the elves' work load. It would only be the old ones we allow to live, of course. The ones that are no longer able to breed.'

'That's sick!' I stare up at him, hatred boiling my blood. 'That is so, so _sick_!'

Yet another cut rips into my arm.

And so I press my lips together, scrub furiously at the floor, and try to ignore every word he says.

_Oh god, let me see Lucius Malfoy suffer. Let me see his bones crack. Let me see him bleed, and scream, and cry. Let me see him humiliated at my feet._

* * *

I curl up into a ball on my bed, shivering, huddling the blankets over me for warmth. I pull the huge, oversized man's shirt I'm sleeping in tight around me.

It's bloody freezing in here.

At home, my bed was next to the radiator. I never get cold at night, there.

I can't sleep.

If I were at home I'd be able to turn on my bedside lamp and read a book, or reach for my old teddy for a cuddle.

Tears come to my eyes and I press my lips together. Home. I'll never see it again…

I take a deep breath and press my cold finger-tips to my eyelids, pushing the tears back inside of me. I turn over on to my back, looking up at the ceiling that I can't see through the darkness.

It's Lucius' fault. He's the reason I can never get any sleep. At night, when I have nothing else to think about, all I can do is wonder at the mystery of him – at what makes him tick.

Why did eventually get bored of taunting me today? Was it because I ignored him?

Maybe if I always ignore him, then perhaps he'll stop taking such pleasure in tormenting me. After all, when I started to ignore him today he didn't even speak to me as he brought me up to my room afterwards.

But why was he looking at me so… _strangely _before that?

I already knew he was watching me while I was cleaning the floor, but the expression I saw on his face when I looked up at him for a split second wasn't what I expected.

It was a very odd look. It was as if he was studying me - trying to work something out about me that he can't quite fathom.

Oh, I don't know. I'd do anything to know what he's thinking, sometimes-

A creak.

My breath stops in my chest as an iron fist grabs at my heart.

I know that sound. It's the slow, groaning creak of my door.

It shuts.

It clicks.

It's locked.

I bolt upwards, staring into the darkness, bunching my sheets up in my hands in terror.

'Who's there?' I can barely get the words out for fear.

No answer.

Breathing. Heavy… too heavy…

I can't see _anything_!

'I said who's there?' My voice shakes out of my throat, the darkness swallowing my words.

No answer.

Light footsteps move cautiously and ever so slowly across the room.

Is it… _him?_

No, it can't be! What the hell would he be doing here at this time of night?

_What does it _look_ like he's doing?_

But… but he said that he wouldn't! He said that he would never-

_Don't tell yourself that this hasn't always been a possibility. _

I suppose… it's always been a fear of mine, ever since he turned up in my _bedroom _at home…

But… I _can't_… oh god, please, I… I…

The footsteps stop at the foot of my bed, and the breathing grows heavier, more ragged.

_I _don't breathe, because I can't. I just curl in on myself at the top of my bed, cringing with fear.

'_Lumos!_'

My breath leaves my body in a giant, frightened rush.

That wasn't _his_ voice.

Light filters into the darkness of the room, illuminating the intruder.

Dolohov stands at the foot of my bed, leering at me horribly in the dim light.

_Oh, god._

'Good evening, my dear.' His face is twisted into a gruesome leer.

I scramble quickly off of my bed, untangling myself from the bed clothes.

'What is it?' I ask, hugging my arms defensively around my chest. 'What do you want?'

Why did I ask that, why?

He runs his tongue over his lower lip. His saliva glistens in the wand-light.

'I think I've made that perfectly obvious already, don't you?'

My insides all clench up tight and do themselves in knots as he come closer, closer, backing me quickly into the wall until I'm pressed into the cold stone, not even able to breathe for fear. _H__is_ breathing grows heavier as he places a hand on the wall by my head.

The wand light dances in his dilated pupils. He runs his eyes over me, north and south.

I bolt to the side, but his arm clamps around my waist, pinning me back against the wall.

He _stinks _of alcohol.

'Get away from me!' I hiss at him. He laughs softly, his grip on me tightening as I struggle.

'Oh come now.' His breath is hot on my face, making me gag. 'I've already seen your body. The rest comes naturally, wouldn't you agree?'

He grips at my face, wrenching it to the side. Something hot and wet runs along my cheek…

He's _licking _my face!

I think I'm going to be _sick_.

'Mmm.' He pulls back from me, smacking his lips as I take deep, nauseous breaths. 'You taste fantastic. So young, so fresh, and yet so undeniably _dirty_. I can almost _taste_ your filthy blood through that delicious skin of yours.'

'_FUCK OFF!_' I scream in sudden rage, and I try to hit out at him but he slaps me across the face. Not as hard as Lucius does, but hard enough.

'If you touch me-' I spit the words at him, but I realise then that I don't know what to say. What could I possibly threaten him with?

'Yes?' he asks mockingly. 'You'll do what, exactly?'

No. I remember. He must do, too…

…_She's a Mudblood; remember it…_

There's _one _thing I can threaten him with, for all it's worth.

I take a deep, juddering breath. 'If you touch me,' I say again, 'I'll tell L-Lucius…'

He laughs out loud at that. 'And do you really think he'll care?'

I suck in my breath shakily. 'He stopped you before,' I say desperately. 'And he'll do it again!'

'Will he?' he asks mockingly, and his hand shifts upwards, up onto my breast, squeezing it hard through the thin shirt. I wince as the touch, the horrible clumsy brutality of it. 'And why would he do that, do you think?'

Does he want me to answer that?

His hand twists at my breast, and I struggle harder against him, but he points his wand at me and I find myself stuck to the wall, with only my head being left mobile. I press my lips together to stop myself from bursting into tears.

'Would he stop me, perhaps, because he doesn't want anyone else to touch his little Muggle _whore_?' He spits the word out at me. His long nails dig into my breast. 'Oh yes, I've guessed at what's going on between the pair of you. But don't worry; the Dark Lord doesn't need to know about it. Just as long as you promise to be nice to me.'

What the hell's he talking about?

'Be _nice_ to you?' I hiss, trying in vain to struggle against the invisible force that holds me against the wall. But I can't move. Can't do anything. 'I'd rather eat Botuber Pus!'

'Manners, Mudblood.' He squeezes my breast roughly through my shirt. 'I bet you don't talk to Lucius like this. I bet you let him do whatever he likes to you.'

'I don't know what you're talking about-' I start, but he slaps me across the face again.

'You know exactly what I'm talking about, you little bitch!' he hisses.

And his hand moves away from my breast, moving down, down my stomach, and I struggle for all I'm worth against the power that holds me to the wall as my legs lock together automatically, all of my insides clenching with fear.

'_GET AWAY FROM ME!_' I scream before I spit in his face. He grabs me by the shoulders and slams me back into the wall. I cry out as my head bags against the stone, sending shock-waves of pain pain _pain_ through my body.

'You uppity little brat!' he hisses at me. 'You let him do what he wants readily enough, don't you? You spread your legs for him, I'm sure! Why can't you do the same for me? What is _wrong_ with me?'

His words slam into me like fists in my stomach. They knock all the wind out of me.

I open my mouth, and I scream. _Scream._

He clamps his hand tight over my mouth.

'Shut up and do as I say, or I swear I'll make things worse for you-'

'What the hell do you think you're _doing_?'

I gasp in sheer relief.

I didn't even hear the door open!

Dolohov turns around.

The dark figure in the doorway strides swiftly over to us, pulling Dolohov away from me.

_Thank god, thank GOD!_

Dolohov's wand falls out of his grip as he's thrown to the ground, and for a moment it illuminates Lucius' face. The expression on it terrifies me. I've seen him angry before, of course I have, countless times. But now… he's staring at Dolohov with such pure, white-hot rage that if I were Dolohov I'd be almost crying in sheer terror.

My body comes free of the wall.

I stumble forwards and I run. I claw my way out of the open door, stumbling into the corridor, hearing only furious shouting coming from the two men I leave behind.

But they're not yelling at me. They're yelling at _each-other._

I don't care, I don't. Don't care, don't care, couldn't care less.

I run. My feet move with a life of their own, taking the rest of me with them. The corridors are dark, but the occasional flamed torch lights my way. I run and I run, down empty corridor after empty corridor, without a clue where the fuck I'm heading.

Tears stream down my cheeks as the cold air slaps my face and my bare legs. The ice-cold stone floor stings the soles of my feet.

I feel disgusting. I can feel him on me. And he'll be back for more, I know it. How can I escape from him?

And that's not the worst thing. The worst thing is…

I fall against the wall, banging my knee painfully, clinging to the cold stone to support myself. Only now do I let the tears fall.

'…_he doesn't want anyone else to touch his little Muggle whore …'_

I heave a huge sob as I slide down to the ground.

How could I have ever believed that I was safe from this? I knew that Dolohov wanted to… he made it obvious from the moment he first came to my cell.

And Lucius? What about him?

I used to think that I was safe from him in that respect, at least. But it's been… different these past few days.

Footsteps. Swiftly moving footsteps.

I don't stop to think. I run as fast as I can, through hallways and corridors, no idea where I'm headed. Through light corridors, and dark, stumble through the dark, find the light again and run, on and on. I can't let him find me, I can't…

The footsteps fade behind me, but I don't stop running.

I stagger up flights of stairs, up and up, and along more corridors and up more stairs, weaving my way through the house with no idea where I'm going.

Where can I go? I can't go back to my room, or over the river, and I don't even know where I am in this bloody place anyway.

I stumble into a long corridor, sobbing wildly as I run, slamming myself against the door at the end of it and swinging it open-

Only then do I stop running.

I'm standing on a balcony that looks out into darkness.

It must be the inside of the cave that this house hides itself in, I suppose.

There's no railing on the edge of the balcony. It just leads right off into thin air.

I lean over the edge. I must be very high up. Just looking over the edge makes me feel dizzy. The water-bank and the lake seem to be miles and miles away.

My toes curl over the edge.

How easy would it be? Just to step right off the ledge, fall through the air and end it all? To forget everything, to make everything stop, all the pain, fear, hate and guilt.

I should feel fear. But I feel nothing. I've gone numb.

Sensation comes back to me when I take another look over the edge. My stomach does back-flips over and over again. God, it's far. I'd have plenty of time to watch the ground hurtling towards me.

I roll my eyes up, wishing more than anything to see the night sky one last time.

But there's nothing there, of course. Just the darkness of the ceiling.

I take a deep breath and I close my eyes. A lone tear creeps down my cheek.

_I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I love you Mum, Dad, Ron, Harry…_

I throw my arms out-

But something clamps around my waist and I am pulled back, back onto the balcony and into the corridor. I struggle against it, because I know that it's Dolohov back for more, and I won't won't _won't _let him touch me! I'll kick him, and then I'll throw myself off the balcony before he can get hold of me again…

I start to scream but a hand clamps over my mouth as I am pulled back into the corridor and slammed into a dark alcove. I struggle against him for all I'm worth, but he's strong, too strong.

He pins me to the wall in the alcove, pressing me into it with his hand clamped over my mouth, stopping my screams.

But I can't see! It's so dark I can't even see him!

Tears roll down my cheeks, falling onto his fingers as they clamp mercilessly over my mouth.

But… I don't think… it's not Dolohov, I know it.

'I won't let you kill yourself.' The voice mutters this quietly, darkly, full of threat, but it's not Dolohov's voice. 'I won't let you take such an easy way out.'

It's Lucius.

It's Lucius pushing me into the wall now, with his hand clamped over my mouth.

I close my eyes, and my tears roll down onto his fingers.

I don't care. I wish my tears could stain him.

His breathing skates lightly over my forehead.

I open my eyes, trying to make his features out, but I can't see anything. I can only feel his body pressing mine into the stone, feel his long fingers clamped over my mouth. His thumb digs in under my jaw.

His fingers shift slowly away from my mouth, so slowly, but he keeps his other hand pushed into my shoulder. His now free hand moves down to grab my wrist, which is resting awkwardly on his chest.

On his _chest_-

I clench my fingers into a tight fist.

'What did he do to you?' he asks quietly.

I try to keep my breathing steady, and I don't answer him.

We stay like this for ages, still together in the darkness. All there is in the world at this moment is him pressing me into the stone, and his hand on my shoulder. His warm hand-

The fingers of his other hand dig into my wrist. I can't see his face, but I know that it's… different, somehow, from whenever he usually gets this close. He's not mocking me or trying to intimidate me this time. I don't know how I know this, I just _know_…

Right. That's it. This ends _now._

I squirm against him.

'Let go of me,' I whisper, furious at how tears are starting in my eyes again.

He remains silent for a second, but then steps back, releasing my wrist and my shoulder. I don't run away, even though I know that I probably should.

I still can't see his face.

'There's no need to be like that,' he says, his voice mocking but the words ringing hollow, somehow.

'Don't you dare…' I can barely get my words out. 'Don't you _dare_ mock me, not after what just happened.'

There's a long pause.

I wrap my arms defensively around my chest, hugging the huge shirt tighter around me.

He sucks in his breath, ever so quietly. 'What exactly did he do to you?' he asks, his voice perfectly still and controlled.

I press my lips together. I don't want to tell him. I don't want him to know…

'You tell me,' he says quietly. 'I don't want to have to force the truth out of you.'

But how can I tell him _that?_

'He didn't do anything.' I have to force the words out. 'He would have done, if you hadn't turned up. He said that I had to be n-nice to him.'

There's a long silence, punctured only by my breathing.

It takes me a while to realise that I can't hear _him_ breathing anymore.

He steps out of the alcove, into the dim light of the corridor. The blue torchlight throws his harsh, furious features into sharp relief. He looks so angry it hits me like a kick in the stomach.

'I noticed that Antonin was drinking a lot this evening,' he says quietly, 'but I had no idea that he was planning to go to your room.'

But… I don't understand!

'If you had no idea that he was going to my room then why did you turn up in the first place?'

His face sets itself hard, and he slaps me hard across the cheek. Tears sting my eyes as I grip at my sore cheek.

'Don't think you can get away with any further impudence, Mudblood.'

'I wasn't-'

'And don't flatter yourself that I was there specifically to see _you_,' he cuts across me. 'My own room is quite close to yours. I heard your screams as I made my way down the corridor, and so I went to see what was the matter.'

'Why is your…'

I let the question disappear into thin air. He narrows his eyes, though – he knows what I was going to ask.

'My room is close to yours because Antonin has frequently suggested that he should like to… pay your room a visit,' he says quietly. 'Upon our arrival I made sure that my room was close to yours so that I could prevent such an incident should it ever occur.'

'So you're my _protector_, now?' I say coldly, tears clinging to my eyelids. I'm furious because he can't claim that title, not after everything he's done to me. 'But can you protect me from yourself, that's what I want to know?'

A muscle goes in his jaw and he reaches out quickly, putting his hand to my throat. He pinches at it cruelly, making me choke.

'For your sake, I'm going to pretend that you didn't say that to me,' he says, his voice quiet and still with contained rage. 'I don't think I need to remind you that _I_ was not the one who came to your room tonight looking to dirty my hands on a Mudblood.'

Oh god, no, that's not what I meant! I wouldn't ever suggest that again, not after what he did when I last suggested it…

Something flickers at the back of my mind then, just for a moment, but I… I can't work out what it is.

'Do I make myself clear?' he asks quietly, pinching harder, _harder._

I can't do anything more than nod. He holds me still for a moment, before he lets go of my throat. I gasp and massage at my sore neck while he looks at me intently.

'Why would you kill yourself?' he asks quietly. 'Why would you do something so foolish? Antonin's not worth it, believe me-'

'It's not just _him_,' I say, my voice blank and barren because I'm not angry anymore. I'm just broken, and sad, so sad. 'I've lost my family, and my friends, and I've led my very best friend to his death because of my own stupid weakness. I've seen things that I never thought I would have to see, and I'll never be able to forget it. You forced me to give up my principles. You have taken everything I ever believed in and turned it into a lie. What do I have to live for? I have nothing left.'

He stays perfectly still. He does nothing - he just looks at me long and hard, with no emotion and no pity in his gaze at all.

'And you call _me_ a coward?' he says eventually, quietly. 'I'd never take such an easy way out. I thought you believed in fighting your way through things. That's the _Gryffindor _mentality, isn't it?'

'Perhaps I'm tired of fighting,' I say, my voice flat. 'Besides, I don't see why you've suddenly decided that me fighting things out is a good thing.' I shake my head and breathe a tiny, joyless laugh. 'You're such a hypocrite. You just need me alive for whatever you've got planned for me. So what's up for me now, then? More torture, more pain, more humiliation?'

A long silence spreads out between us. His face remains completely unreadable.

'We _do _have further plans for you,' he says eventually. 'I'm not going to deny it. Plans that require you alive and well. So come.' He steps back from me and goes to the door that leads to the balcony, shutting it and locking it with his wand. 'I shall return you to your room, and I don't want to hear any more suicidal nonsense from you.'

'I don't want to go back there,' I say quietly, and I can't stop my voice from cracking. 'He'll come back, I know it.'

He looks at me very intently, and the look in his eyes… it's something that I don't recognise at all.

'Damn,' he mutters under his breath.

He turns away from me for a moment, leaning against the wall with his back to me.

I wish I could know what he's thinking. Right at this moment, I have no idea what to think about him.

'I stunned him before I came after you,' he says with his back to me. 'If you come back with me now I'll get rid of him for you before he can wake up, and I shall personally ensure that he doesn't come back for you again.'

I swallow sharply.

He _stunned _him? He stunned his friend, his fellow Death-Eater?

'Come.' He turns back to me with a face devoid of expression, and he grips me by the shoulders, pushing me roughly in front of him and down the corridor.

* * *

We arrive back in my room to find Dolohov sprawled across the ground, his eyes closed and his face expressionless. I might almost think that he was dead, if I couldn't see his chest rise and fall as he breathes.

I wish that he _were _dead. I hope that the sick, sick bastard dies in the most horrible, unimaginable way possible.

No. No, I won't wish for that. I won't be like them…

But how can I not be? They've brutalized me. Quite honestly, I could kill Dolohov slowly and painfully with my own bare hands right now, and I wouldn't think twice about it.

Lucius crouches over him, checks his pulse, then pulls one of his eyelids up and looks into his eye by the light of his illuminated wand.

'He's knocked cold.' He stands up and picks up Dolohov's wand, which I didn't notice lying on the floor. 'I'll take him back to his room,' he says without looking at me. 'He will not bother you again. I shall make sure of it.'

'Thank-you.'

Why did I say that? What am I _thanking _him for, after everything he's done to me?

'Don't thank me, Mudblood.' He looks at me with hard eyes. 'I didn't do this for _your _benefit. Antonin has a responsibility to his position. A pure-blood cannot afford to risk _involving_ themselves with a Muggle-born. Who knows what kind of _offspring_ that might result in?'

I feel sick. He might have saved me from Dolohov, but it wasn't anything to do with _me_. It was all to do with his bloody pure-blood supremacy bollocks.

_Were you really expecting any different from him by now?_

'Voldemort himself is a half blood,' I say quietly. 'Did you know that?'

He raises his wand. That same old magical slap stings my cheek, and it's still the same old Lucius. He cares _nothing_ for me. Nothing at all. I might as well be shit on his shoe for all he cares for me.

'Do not disrespect your master with that filthy lie,' he says quietly, his voice pulsing with anger. 'It is nothing but ridiculous propaganda spread about by Dumbledore. You might be foolish enough to believe it, but I'd like to believe that you're not foolish enough to repeat it.'

I thin my lips out and I take a deep breath. I'm going to try and get through to that one bit of humanity I saw in him earlier this evening.

'Alright,' I say shakily. 'Say it is just propaganda. Say it's all lies spread about by the Order. But your friend Severus Snape; he's definitely a half-blood. I've seen a newspaper cutting that proves it. His mother was a witch but his father was a muggle. If you despise anyone who's not a Pureblood, then why are you such good friends with _him_?'

A ghost of a smirk crosses his face, but his eyes remain hard. 'The blood of half-breeds may be inferior,' he drawls, 'but at least they get their powers from _somewhere_. I can put up with them for that reason. They have _some_ basis for practicing magic.' He looks down at Dolohov for a moment, his lip curling up in rage again. 'Even so, they _are _inferior. And so no pure-blood should willingly pollute their blood line. It makes them the worst kind of blood-traitor.'

'So what would you do if Draco married a Mudblood or a Muggle?' I ask, trying to keep my voice calm and reasonable.

'I would disown him,' he replies without hesitation, looking me straight in the eye. 'If he were to deliberately and knowingly pollute his blood-line, then he would be no son of mine.'

I just gape at him. It's just… I can't believe how anyone could be so twisted in their beliefs. How can he value his own ridiculous prejudices above his own son?

He stares back at me for a few seconds, before he turns to the door, locking it with his wand.

No-

I automatically hug my arms around myself, but he doesn't even look at me. He just reaches down and grabs Dolohov by the arm.

I breathe again, lowering my arms.

'You should go to sleep,' he says curtly, pulling the transportation key out of his robes.

'Do you really think I'm going to be able to sleep again tonight?' I ask quietly.

He flicks his gaze up to me, and our eyes lock onto each-other for a moment. 'Get some sleep,' he says again. 'The North tower.'

The key glows bright red and both men disappear, leaving me alone in the pitch-black of my room.

I feel my way towards my bed, clambering onto it. I press my back into the headboard, staring out into the darkness with my eyes wide open, too afraid even to blink.


	12. Betrayal

_'For the eyeing my scars, there is a charge  
For the hearing of my heart-  
It really goes._

_And there is a charge, a very large charge  
For a word or a touch  
Or a bit of blood_

_Or a piece of my hair on my clothes.' -_ Sylvia Plath_, Lady Lazarus  
_

_

* * *

_

My breath stops as I hear a small shifting noise in the corner of the room.

I kick myself back, pressing myself as hard as I can against the headboard of my bed, fear knotting my insides. I raise the candlestick above my head. It almost slips from my hand, slick with sweat from the hours I've been holding it. I press my eyes into the blackness of my room in a desperate attempt to see who it is.

'If you come near me I'll kill you, I swear-'

'_Accio Candlestick!_'

That whispered incantation cuts through my words, and my only defence flies out of my hand and into the darkness.

Whose voice was that? It was only a whisper; I can't make it out…

A footstep.

I scramble under my duvet covers, pulling them over me in a useless attempt to hide.

'If you touch me I'll make sure that he finds out!' I scream from under the duvet. 'Don't you dare touch me-'

'Believe me, Mudblood, I have no intention of _touching _you.'

I gasp. Partly out of fear, partly out of shock, mostly out of sheer relief.

Of course it's him. I should have realised – he's the one who owns the hand of glory. He's the only one who can see me through the dark.

'_Lumos!_'

Light creeps in through the gaps in my bed-covers, but I don't shift them from me, because I don't care what he says, he's a man, isn't he? What makes him any different from Dolohov?

I feel like I did when I was a little girl, when I was scared of the dark and I'd pull the covers right up over my head, too scared to look out into the darkness of my room.

But now my fears are much more real, and much more awful, and I have to face them every moment of every day.

I'd give anything to have the dark as my only fear now.

'Aren't you going to come out?' His voice is laden with malicious amusement.

_Go away._

He sighs.

'I don't know why you're hiding from _me_,' he says with exaggerated patience. 'I thought we knew each-other well enough by now that you might be able to distinguish me from Antonin Dolohov, of all people. In case you'd forgotten, it was I who came to your _rescue_ last night, much as it grieves me.'

_Much as it grieves you? You bastard, you bastard, that's not what you said as you pulled him away from me, was it? That wasn't what you said as you pulled me back from the balcony._

Yes, but as he said at the time, he only helped me because of his own prejudices and because he has a job to do. It's not as if he cares about _me._

I don't want him to care about me, anyway.

I huddle deeper under the bed-covers.

'_Wingardium leviosa!'_

The blankets rise up into the air, and I am left shivering in the light and the cold under his haughty, sneering gaze.

I drag myself off the bed, and I stand before him, tugging at the hem of my shirt.

'My, but your bad manners will never cease to amaze me.' He smirks. 'I knew that muggles were lazy, but I had no idea that they liked to remain undressed, in bed until…' He pulls a small pocket watch out of his robes. 'Nine o'clock in the evening.'

'Well, how am I supposed to know what time it is?' I mutter. 'It's not as if there's any way for me to tell, is there?'

He points his wand at me and I feel a small shiver of pain run right through me. I gasp, but it's gone in a second.

He sneers before he turns and points his wand at the bathroom door, which creaks open slowly.

'After you.'

I narrow my eyes at him as I walk slowly across the room, and he watches me walk into the bathroom with a smirk on his face.

I hear the door shut behind me as soon as I enter the bathroom. I spin around. He stands in front of the closed door, blocking my exit.

I swallow sharply. He smirks.

He flicks his wand at the sunken bath, and all the taps attached to it turn themselves on.

I stare at him, shaking with horror, but he just grins at my discomfort.

'What are you doing?' I ask, furious at how my voice is cracking.

His eyebrow twitches up as he flicks his wand at the taps again, which turn themselves off. I notice with dismay just how quickly the bath has filled itself with water.

'You need to get yourself washed up.'

_Breathe in, breathe out. Keep calm._

'Alright,' I say, desperately trying to keep my voice steady. 'I'll be out as soon as I'm done-'

'Don't be so ridiculous,' he snaps. 'I need to make sure you do a decent job of it. You need to be absolutely spotless today. And I have seen what the Muggle notion of the word 'clean' entails.'

I wrap my arms around myself and I close my eyes, feeling my nose sting with tears as my body curls in on itself with fright.

I don't even care what he needs me clean for. I know that he wants me to ask him, but to be honest, I couldn't give a damn.

I'm not going to get in the bath in front of him, I just won't. After everything that happened to me yesterday, I can't believe that he can even dare to _ask _it of me.

_He's seen you naked before._

But… that was so long ago! And it wasn't as if I had a choice back then, was it? Besides, things are different now. Him and me… our entire relationship has changed and evolved so much that I don't even know what it was like when it first began…

_Relationship. _That word seems… wrong somehow, when describing what's going on between us.

I can't even remember what my life was like before he captured me. I can't remember the time before he became so crucial a part of my life. He has become the very centre of my existence, and I just can't bear it.

He runs a disdainful glance over me.

'What on earth are you stalling for?' he drawls. 'You can't possibly be afraid of _my _intentions towards you? You must realise by now that I'm not interested.' A cruel smirk flickers onto his face. 'I'm sorry to disappoint you, but that's just the way it is.'

'_Shut up!_' I snap. I hate hate _hate _him! Why is he being like this? Last night I really thought that he might have… I don't know.

_You thought he might have pitied you? Well you're an idiot then, aren't you?_

He grins horribly.

'There's no need to be rude,' he drawls. 'Now, would you please stop wasting my time and _get washed up!_'

'No, I won't,' I say quietly. 'Not in front of you.'

He smirks mirthlessly and raises his wand.

'_Imperio!_'

_Oh yes, fantastic. Anything to stay like this… you know it-_

'_Take off the shirt.'_

_Do as he says, anything for him, anything_

_Pull the shirt open, undo the buttons, pop pop pop…_

But… no. Wrong. So wrong.

'_Pull the shirt off.'_

_Do as he says, as he wants, everything he wants, only he can take the pain away-_

'_Drop it to the floor.'_

_Let it fall from my fingers, smile, so warm, so peaceful-_

Cold.

_Oh no, I'm warm. Just standing here in warmth. Who needs clothes, anyway? Nothing matters in this happy haze, with his voice in my ear …_

Got to move. He can see… everything…

'_Don't question it.'_

_Anything for you._

'_Get in the bath.'_

_Sit on the tiles, slip my body into the water, so warm, anything for you, please, please don't leave me, don't stop…_

The warmth and the happiness seep away from me.

And now there is only warmth up to my waist – warmth of the bath water, I realise too late.

I quickly put my arms around me, shielding my horribly visible breasts from him, thanking God that the water shields the rest of me. I press my lips together to stop the tears from swelling out of my eyes.

He just stands there, his eyes boring into me, piercing me, as if he would see past the hard shell I put around myself and seek out the pain and the humiliation that lurks underneath.

I feel my face bloom under his gaze, because I was just… oh God, that I just… _naked _in front of _him! _

I'm _still_ naked in front of him.

I… I can't _bear _it!

He smirks. 'Now, that wasn't so hard, was it?'

I… I can't bloody…

Finally, I find words.

'You bastard!' I whisper. 'How can you make me do this, after what happened to me yesterday?'

The smirk disappears from his face. 'I thought you said that nothing happened to you yesterday.'

'Nothing _did _happen,' I say quickly. 'Not really, anyway-'

'Well, then, stop complaining!' He rolls his eyes in exasperation.

'Stop complaining!' I say incredulously, hugging my arms tighter around myself. How _dare _he! 'I haven't slept for fear since the pair of you left my room! He _molested _me, and you stand there telling me to stop complaining?'

His face is hard, completely full of contempt, and when he answers me he completely ignores what I've just said to him.

'Are you going to get washed up, or do I have to Imperio you into doing that as well?'

But… how can I? How can I wash myself up without letting him see me?

He sneers at me again.

'You may turn away from me if you wish it,' he says. 'In fact, I would find that agreeable.'

I turn around quickly, because I won't let him see the tears roll out of my eyes.

_Don't listen. They're just words, that's all they are – empty, meaningless noises._

Then why do they hurt so much? Why does every single word he ever says to me cause me so much _pain_?

I dunk myself under the warm water before rubbing at my body with the soap that sits on the side of the bath. I can feel his eyes on me, boring into my back, and I wonder what the hell he's playing at. Why is he insisting on watching me _wash_, for God's sake?

_It doesn't matter. Just get through this. Survive today, that's all you have to focus on. _

_Until tomorrow, when you'll have to survive that…_

_And the day after…_

I rub the soap all over my body and into my hair, before I dunk myself into the water again to wash it all off of me. I emerge out of the warm water, my hair wet and dripping down my back, and I turn my head slightly to face him.

There's nothing on his face that gives his thoughts away.

'Good.' He nods. 'Dry yourself off and then come through to your room.' He turns and leaves the bathroom without closing the door behind him.

I pull myself out of the bath and tug a towel down from the rail attached to the wall, drying off my body and squeezing all the excess water out of my hair before wrapping the towel around me, trying to keep as much of my body hidden as possible. I walk cautiously through to my bedroom and he's there, leaning against the wall. He points his wand at my head. I flinch, but I only feel a warm dryness pass over my hair. I feel as if I've been sitting under a hairdryer for half an hour.

'Why are you doing this?' I ask quietly. 'What are you preparing me for?'

He doesn't answer. He flicks his wand and a bundle of white material appears in mid-air. He catches it before it can fall to the ground and he hands it to me.

'Put that on,' he says curtly.

I shake out the material, and see that it is a long, white linen robe.

'Please-' I begin shakily.

'No,' he cuts me off. 'No, you cannot have any _privacy_. You can grow up, and act like an adult for once.'

I quickly turn around, pressing my lips together. I let my towel fall to the floor, pulling the dress over me as quickly as possible. It fits well, as well as the green dress did, but it's a completely different kind of robe. It's pure white linen, with long arms and a long skirt that reaches the ground. It's almost… medieval, really.

I turn back to face him, and his mouth curves into a satisfied smile as he rakes his gaze over me.

'Good,' he murmurs. 'You look ideal. Like a martyr, an innocent little martyr.'

I blink.

_Martyr?_

I mustn't panic. They can't possibly… I mustn't _panic!_

'What are you going to do to me?' I whisper.

He smirks and picks up the comb that rests on my dressing table.

'Comb your hair.' He hands the comb to me. 'That mane of yours looks a fright at the best of times, let alone when it hasn't been combed.'

I slam the comb back onto the table.

'Not until you tell me what's going on!' I say, looking straight into those cold grey eyes of his.

An eyebrow twitches upwards as he continues to smile mockingly.

'Why don't you sit down and comb your hair?' He gestures at the chair in front of my dressing table. 'If you do that for me then I shall tell you what I have planned for you for today.'

I glare at him as I lower myself into the chair, and then I turn to face myself in the mirror in front of me. I pick up the comb and begin to tug it through the mess of knots that my hair has become.

'The Dark Lord has asked to see you. He has asked me to take you to his new head quarters.'

My heart stops and starts again. I drop the comb on my dressing table.

'W-what?' I whisper, watching as his reflection moves into the mirror as he stands behind me. He smirks at me in genuine amusement.

'I believe you heard me correctly.'

'But…'

I know why he wants to see me, of course I do. He's finally going to use me to get to Harry, I know it… why else would he want to see _me? _I've already given them all the information they wanted.

Lucius is smirking at me in the mirror. 'Yes? But what?'

I take a deep breath.

'Why?' I ask, even though I know the answer. 'Why does he want to see me?'

'I believe you know why. Didn't you ever wonder precisely why we have kept you alive all this time?'

I feel my insides contort themselves into knots as my breathing becomes tight.

'Alright. So you're going to use us to get to Harry-'

'_Us_?' he asks mockingly. 'Oh, you think that we're going to use Weasley as well as you. I'm afraid not. You see, his parents wouldn't take kindly to us murdering their son after we'd promised not to in exchange for their loyalty.'

Thank God Ron's safe, anyway. Thank God, thank _God!_

But…_ murder?_

I can't breathe anymore, I can't think. All of my body goes hot and cold and I start to shake.

I don't want to die! Not yet, I'm not ready!

_That's not what you were thinking last night._

I stand up shakily and turn around to face Lucius. He's a lot closer than I thought he was.

'So,' I say quietly as I look up into his smirking face, 'this is where it's all going to end, is it? You're going to kill me to get to Harry. You're going to be rid of me at last.'

He thins his lips out but he doesn't say anything.

'It will do you no good, though. My death will achieve nothing but to vilify you further in the eyes of the general public and cause yet more hatred for your cause.' I pull my lips back into a small, hard smile even though I'm shaking in fear. 'So kill me, and make me a martyr. People will always remember that you killed a young girl to achieve your ends.'

He smirks back at me, enjoying this battle of words, like so many of the others we have fought with each-other.

'Ah, my little Mudblood.' He brushes his fingers onto my cheek. 'You are mistaken in your assumption. No one will remember you. They will forget you. You will become simply another name in the long list of people who died trying to oppose us.'

My heart clenches. I hate it when he touches me like this. It's almost as bad as when he tortures me. This is horrible because it should feel more hideous than it actually does, because as much as I hate it, any human contact not associated with hatred or violence means everything to me, and I… I can't _stand _it!

I don't want him to touch me.

'It will achieve nothing for you,' I say viciously. 'People will hate you for it-'

'Well then, let them hate,' he drawls horribly, a truly evil smile spreading across his face. 'What does it matter if we are hated, as long as we are feared? Adoration is fine indeed, but fear is all the more powerful in matters of control, don't you think?'

Oh God, please, no, I don't want to _die!_

'Anyway,' he removes his hand from my cheek, 'we are not going to kill you today, as surprising as that may be.'

_What?_

My breathing suddenly seems easier as my heart rises and swells like a balloon with hope. He sneers at me, as if he knows how I'm feeling.

'Don't tell me this comes as a surprise to you. Of course we're not going to allow you to die until Potter himself lies dead at the Dark Lord's feet. You are far too useful a tool to let go until that moment.'

The balloon bursts at his words.

I'm not going to show him my fear, or my pain. I harden my voice and try to force it to be as cold as his own.

'And how exactly do you think you're going to use me to get to Harry?' I breathe a tiny laugh that catches in my throat slightly. 'You don't know where he is. You'll have to give away our position if you want him to try and rescue me, and do you really think that he won't be there like a shot with half the Order in tow as soon as you give away wherever we are?'

I smile at him triumphantly, but he breathes another mocking laugh and brushes my hair away from my face.

'Do you think we haven't already considered that? We're not fools, you know. And kindly don't play the cold strategist, Mudblood. You simply don't have it in you.' He moves his hand down to my arm, gripping at it. 'Now come, the Dark Lord is waiting.'

I pull myself out of his grasp, struggling away from him. His hand closes round my wrist again but I twist and turn against it because he can _go to hell _if he thinks that I'm going to go to Voldemort; that I'm going to help him capture Harry. I kick out at him, but I miss and he's laughing at me and _sod off _you horrible, horrible bastard!

I try frantically to peel his fingers off of my arm but I can't, and so… it worked once so I'll try it again… I wrench his hand holding my wrist up to my mouth and I sink my teeth into his fingers, but I feel his other hand in my hair, _twisting-_

'Don't you dare, you disgusting creature!' he hisses, before he whips his hand across my face. A slap burns my cheek again, and again, and again. I cry out and fall to the ground, my head ringing.

'You will _not_ fight against me, you ridiculous little girl,' he says coldly. My head snaps up to face him. Those cold, pitiless eyes are as hard as stone. 'I do not have time for such behaviour.'

'Why are you doing this to me?' My voice cracks as I pull myself to my feet. 'Why are you treating me like this? You saved my life yesterday; you saved me from Dolohov-'

'And I have given you my reasons for that.' His voice is as hard as his eyes, but I can't stop myself.

'Oh yes, and don't they work in your advantage?' I hiss in absolute rage. 'They're such a convenient cover for any humanity you might hold within you, aren't they? I want you to tell me one thing – you owe me that at least.'

He says nothing, and so I continue.

'Why are you so ashamed of feeling pity for me?'

His face goes completely white and harsh with fury and he points his wand at me.

'I. Do not. Feel _pity_. For _you!_' He punctuates his sentence with burning, searing whip-like pains across my back. I cry out and fall across the wall slightly, my chest heaving with my harsh breathing as I stare up at him through my tears.

But there's no pity in his face, no humanity. I was an idiot to think that there ever could be. I am exactly what he says I am – stupid. Stupid to have ever believed that he might care for me on any level.

'I don't have time to waste on your ridiculous temper tantrums,' he says quietly. 'I have a job to do, and I can't afford to keep the Dark Lord waiting. Neither can you. _Stupefy!_'

I feel a rush of wind hit me hard, all I can see is red, and then I see no more.

* * *

The darkness flickers away from me.

Something… my wrist… tugging, pulling - _ow!_

My eyes flick open, but everything's blurry and so I blink, and blink, and…

My wrist is wrenched up by my side, being tied up with ropes by long, pale fingers to an ebony board behind me. The rope pinches at my skin, and I gasp.

'You're finally awake then,' Lucius says with a smirk as he puts the finishing touches to the merciless knots he has tied the ropes into.

Finally? How long have I been unconscious?

I look at my other wrist, but it's tied to the other side of me just as securely. I try to move my feet forward, but they won't shift. They must be tied to the board too.

_Well, at least you're standing up._

What _difference_ does that make? I might as well be lying down, for all the good it would do me while I'm tied up like this!

I look around at the horrible black gothic architecture that surrounds me. The room is practically empty apart from the black, elaborate chair right in front of me.

A throne. Another throne, oh my God!

I start to shake, and Lucius feels it. His eyebrows flick upwards as he puts his finishing touches to the knots, and then he turns to look at me with a small smile.

'So, I assume that your rabid curiosity is going to prompt you to ask me some questions.'

'Where are we?' I ask shakily.

He sneers. '_Where _we are is not your concern. It's who we are here to see that is important. And you already know who we are here to see.'

_No._

I pull against the bonds that hold me, but they won't shift, they just _won't-_

'These are knots enhanced by magic, Mudblood.' He breathes a small laugh as he runs his fingers over the mercilessly bound ropes. 'A wild dragon would be unable to break them.'

I choke back a sob of horror and I slump back against the board with horrible, horrible resignation.

'Well, well, well.' His voice drips with a world of malice. 'Have you finally lost some of you fighting spirit, Miss Granger? How… disappointing. I was so looking forward to watching the Dark Lord put you in your place.'

The Dark Lord…

'Whatever he wants to happen to me today,' I say unevenly, 'I want you to do it. Please.' He frowns, and I take a deep, shuddering breath. 'I don't want… _him _to hurt me. It'll be so much worse if he does it. Please, will you… I know what to expect from _you_, at least.'

He doesn't answer me. For long moments he just watches me intently with those bottomless eyes that contain a world of hidden emotions that I'll never understand.

A door bangs open behind us and he shifts his gaze from me.

'My Lord.' Lucius sweeps into a low bow and backs away from me, and then a dark, hooded figure stands in front of me, and all I can see are the red, horrible, soulless eyes of Voldemort.

I choke on a terrified mouthful of vomit.

'So, we meet again, Mudblood.' His horrible, cold voice makes me shudder.

I look past him to Lucius, who stands there with a smirk on his face, enjoying my discomfort.

Oh sod off! I'm not going to let this be so bloody entertaining for them!

'Why, so we do.' My voice shakes almost unbearably. 'What a remarkable talent you have for stating the obvious, _my_ _Lord_.'

The look on Lucius' face could almost make me laugh if the situation wasn't so desperate. It's like he doesn't dare himself to smile.

Voldemort chuckles and I can't help it – I look back into his face, and his long, spidery fingers reach out to me...

_No, NO! Don't you touch me, I can't bear it!_

I feel cold, cold fingertips on my cheek. It doesn't feel anything like what Harry said he feels when Voldemort touches him. There's no pain, none at all. But there's something about his touch that makes me feel sick. I flinch automatically as his cold, almost scaly fingertips brush over my warm skin. So different from when Lucius touches me…

_I bet you wish it _was_ Lucius touching you now…_

Shut up!

I close my eyes.

'She's certainly a brave one.'

'Oh she's not as courageous as she likes to make out, my Lord,' I hear Lucius drawl. 'She gives into everything I demand of her, given a little persuasion.'

'Well, she is only a child, after all.'

'Not such a child, my Lord, I think you'll agree.' My eyes flick open to look at Lucius as he speaks. 'What makes her weakness all the more deplorable is the fact that she's a young woman, capable of incredible strength should she choose to use it, but she does not.'

_You bastard, you BASTARD!_

'Hmm.' Voldemort moves his fingers down to grip my chin, turning my head this way and that as he inspects me. 'She certainly looks better than she did the last time I saw her. She looks almost agreeable. And I like this robe you've chosen for her. It adds just the right touch. She looks like a pretty little martyr, just the effect I wish to go for.'

'That was what I was hoping, my Lord.'

Voldemort smiles down at me as I force myself to look up into his face, before he lets go of me and goes to sit in the chair in front of me.

'Stand next to her, Lucius.'

Lucius does as he is ordered, and locks his gaze onto mine for a moment before he turns to face his master.

'I am going to open my mind to Potter once again, Mudblood,' Voldemort says quietly. 'It is the middle of the night; he _should_ be sleeping. And as he sleeps he will see images of your suffering. If you want to make things easier for yourself I suggest you put on a good show for him. Do you understand?'

I press my lips together to stop the gasp of terrible realisation from coming. I should have known. The connection between Harry and Voldemort… Harry doesn't have to be here to see what's going on.

Voldemort sits back in his throne and closes his eyes, tightening his hands on the arms of his chair until his knuckles look as if they're going to burst through the skin.

What do they hope to achieve by this, anyway? To make Harry lose all hope, maybe? To destroy his willpower? If they hope to accomplish that, then they don't know Harry at all.

No. Voldemort knows Harry. They must be trying to lure him into some kind of trap, like they did by using Sirius…

But then, Sirius wasn't really there last time, was he?

Voldemort's eyes suddenly snap open, alive and bright and red. And then he smiles.

'Harry Potter,' he says softly, his voice hypnotic. 'Do you see your Mudblood friend, Harry? Do you see her? She is completely at my mercy. She has been ever since she went missing all those weeks ago.'

He raises his wand.

'_Crucio!_'

Nooooooooooooo! NO! Please, I beg you, just make it STOP! Pain and blood and FIRE, blades, knives, drills, burning, burning pain pain PAIN!

Slump back against the board. Heartbeat. Thumthumthum… thum… thum…

Breathe.

My gaze falls on Lucius, who carries on looking at Voldemort. He won't look at me, why won't he look at me?

I close my eyes, breathing harshly through my nose.

'You see how she suffers, Harry.' Voldemort's cruel whisper is relentless. 'You see how much pain she is in. It's all your fault, you know. You brought this on her. Your friendship has ruined her life. But you can do one last thing for her. You can save her, Harry.'

I feel fingers hook into my chin and wrench my head up to face Voldemort. Warm fingers. Not Voldemort's fingers.

But it's Voldemort that's smiling at me.

'Would you like Harry Potter to save you, Mudblood?'

I suck in my breath.

'No.' I look right into Voldemort's red eyes, pretending that they're Harry's green ones. I pretend that they're full of life and sparkle instead of dead and soulless.

'Harry, I don't need to be rescued, and neither does Ron. We're both fine. They're treating us as well as we could hope for.' Those words stick in my throat, but I plough on regardless. 'You have to do what's needed of you, Harry. Win the war. Forget about us and win the war.'

Voldemort starts to laugh then. He throws his head back and laughs. I look over at Lucius, who's smirking at me lazily while shaking his head.

'Oh dear, what am I to do with such a brave little girl?' Voldemort's voice is full of cruel laughter. He sits back in his chair, gesturing at me. 'Go on, Lucius. Show Harry Potter just how much pain his friend has to go through because of him.'

My gaze snaps to Lucius, whose face has lost all expression as he raises his wand at me. His eyes lock on to mine in the brief moment before the pain begins…

From then on I know nothing but agony.

* * *

_Oh God, I can't take it anymore!_

Tears and blood stream down my face as he runs a knife down from my temple to my chin, tearing through the skin, and he won't look at me. Ever since he started this, he won't look at me. He has done so much, so much in the past hour or ten or however long I've been here, and I've burned and screamed and bled…

And I'm crying now. Even as he pulls the blade away from my face I'm crying, my tears coming in sheets.

He won't look at me, and I know why.

I feel utterly betrayed. I don't know why; he's done worse than this to me before now. But yesterday… oh God, I thought things might have changed somehow. I thought that he might have started to pity me, or feel something other than hate, at least, but now…

Blood runs hot down my face, cooling off in the cold air. I lick my sticky lips and I taste iron. My sobs gradually slow down to hiccups as I wait for whatever's coming next.

'Just say it, Mudblood.' Voldemort's voice cuts through me. 'Just tell Potter that you want him to rescue you. That's what you want, isn't it? I don't think that anyone who could see you like this would deny that you want to be rescued.

I shake my head, mumbling incoherently. I'm not even sure what I'm tying to say.

'Well then,' Voldemort says coldly, 'I must assume that what you have experienced so far has not made a keen enough impression. Lucius, if you would be so kind.'

I look up at Lucius. His face is a marble slab.

'Lucius…' I mumble. 'Lucius, _please_…'

'_Crucio!_'

* * *

Aching, hurting, curse ripping, clawing through my guts, chainsaw dragged through belly, and it. Has. Got. To. _Finish!_

I'm not even a person anymore. I'm sinking away, like a stone that's been thrown into water.

I let out a final wail and the curse leaves, before I feel whiplashes up and down my arms, again, and again, and again… once more – _no_-

'Enough.'

Freedom from it is agony in itself. The memory of it is enough to burn me alive.

'Tell me, what is Harry Potter to you?' Voldemort says, pulling my head up to face him. Tears creep down my cheeks, my nose, my chin. 'Your best friend, I believe. Since the age of eleven, he has been one of your closest companions. Your hero, your rock – the brother you never had.'

I move my eyes away from Voldemort and they rest on Lucius, who is watching me with such a strange expression on his face. He's struggling to keep it calm, but exasperation, anger and something else I can't fathom are trying to edge their way onto his face.

I keep my eyes on his, willing him to feel any small amount of pity for me.

'But where is he now?' Voldemort's cold voice goes on remorselessly. 'He has abandoned you. Is he so wrapped up in his own games of heroics and his vendetta against me that he cannot rescue you when you are in such pain? Is he not, then, the wonderful friend you believed him to be?' I flick my eyes back up to Voldemort, and he smiles at me. 'Tell me the truth, as if I were him; do you want him to rescue you?'

_Just do it, for god's sake,_

But I can't, I can't!

I give a deep, aching sigh that's laced with pain.

Voldemort smiles at me.

'I'm a patient man, Mudblood.'

He lets go of me and Lucius approaches me again.

* * *

'Alright!' I yell, the unbearable pain burning_, burning_. 'I want Harry to come and rescue me. There, are you happy?'

I let out another scream and I feel the bonds around my wrists and my ankles come away. I fall to the ground at Voldemort's feet, shaking and shaking like nothing else on earth, feeling the aching twanging spasms of after-pain run through me. God, even the shaking hurts like hell.

Why did I give in to them? Why why why why why am I so weak?

'That's enough, I think,' Voldemort says coldly. There are a few moments of silence as I feel the curse ebb away from me, my consciousness returning to my body. I can feel my bloodstained robe cling to my body, warm with blood, my blood, oh _God._

My head swims.

'Potter, if you wish to see your friend alive again, be at the Weasleys' home tomorrow night at midnight. Be aware that if you bring any members of the Order with you, the Mudblood will die immediately.'

My eyes flicker open to see Voldemort close his eyes for a few minutes, I assume to close his mind off to Harry, before opening them again.

'That was very well done, Lucius.' He smiles. 'It's always pleasing to see one's servant doing a good job in one's name.'

I roll my eyes up to Lucius. He doesn't acknowledge his master's words. He keeps his hard gaze on me.

A small, shuddering moan escapes my lips. I can't look at him, I just can't.

I close my eyes.

Footsteps ring across the floor, and a door creaks open.

'You can do what you like with her,' Voldemort says. 'Take her back with you or kill her now, if you wish it. It makes no difference to anything. Even if Potter does go to the Weasleys' house he will take half the Order with him, I am sure of it.'

Those words wash over me like water over a stone. I'm not as terrified as I know that I should be. I feel dumb: I can't process anything.

There's a long pause.

'So… I may, my Lord-'

'You may kill her if you wish it,' Voldemort repeats. 'No doubt you are eager to be rid of her. But if you _do _kill her, make sure that you dispose of the body.'

Body. My body. Myself. Hermione Granger.

I am a body to be disposed of.

But I'm dying anyway, surely to god?

'The Weasleys are expecting a large party of Death-Eaters at their house within the next twenty four hours, although they haven't been informed of the reason why,' Voldemort goes on. 'They certainly don't know about the trap being set for Potter, so they might cause a problem or two when they realise what's going on, but no matter. They shall be easily subdued. You shall lead the party of Death Eaters that shall wait there for Potter and his inevitable entourage. You will capture him and bring him back here to me. Is that understood?'

'Of course, Master.'

'You will not fail me.' It's a command, not a request.

'My Lord, I will not.'

'Good. Until tomorrow, then.'

The door slams.

My eyes peel open.

_Is he gone?_

I… I think so.

But Lucius is still here, standing above me. His brow is furrowed in a frown.

_Kill her now, if you wish it._

It's the end. It's all going to be over, finally.

_Oh God help me, please, if you're there, please help me…_

But why do I deserve any help? I've led Harry to his death, and Ron too. Not only them, but countless others through the information I gave away when I was first captured. I deserve to die.

I close my eyes, but I feel a whip-like streak across my cheek.

'Look at me, Mudblood.'

I open my eyes and I look up at him through my tears, and for long moments all there is in the world is me and him, as he watches me and decides whether or not to be rid of me, finally, just as he has always wanted.

I huddle in on myself, cringing with terror as I look up at this man- this man who I barely knew a month ago but whom I now know more about than I ever wanted to - and I wait while he decides whether I should live or die.


	13. Unknown Emotions

'_I could rest if you would not moan  
Hour after hour; I have no power  
To shut my ears where I lie alone. _

_I could rest if you would not cry;  
But there's no sleeping while you sit weeping-  
Watching, weeping so bitterly.'_ – Christina Rossetti, _The Ghost's Petition_

* * *

Is his face really going to be the last thing I see on this earth?

It hovers over me, cold and pale and full of everything I hate in the world. I hate him so much that it hurts me to even look at him, and now his face is going to be the last thing I ever see.

A small frown furrows his brow.

I look into his eyes, the eyes of the man who's going to kill me, to end _my life!_

_No._

I roll to the side, but he grabs me before I can move more than a few inches, crouching down over me and pinning me down with his hand at my shoulder, his merciless grip pushing me into the cold stone floor. His fingertips burn into the bruised bare skin just above the neckline of my gown, my martyr's robe, oh _Jesus_!

He points his wand at my chest, his face hard and cold.

'Did I give you permission to move?'

I shake my head, jerking tears out of my eyes.

His mouth thins out, and his eyes… oh, his eyes. Full of emotions I will never be able to name, pulling me into their depths, deeper and deeper.

I'm drowning in those eyes. It's as if they're cold grey pools that you don't discover the depths of until they close in over your head and you're left desperately trying to claw your way back up to the surface.

He nods.

'It must be done,' he says quietly, but whether to me or to himself I'll never, ever know.

He holds his wand to my neck, pushing the tip roughly into my pulse point.

Pulse point. Pulse. Heartbeat. Life! Right now, I am alive.

But he's about to take that away from me.

It's not fair!

_Since when has anything about this whole situation been 'fair'?_

He pushes the wand deeper into my throat. I squeeze my eyes shut and a high-pitched sob of pure fear escapes my lips.

_Oh God, oh God, I love you mum, dad, please God, help me, please, tell them I love them, please, save me…_

I wait…

And I wait…

But nothing comes.

'Are you afraid, Mudblood?'

Still alive. His pitiless drawl tells me so.

I force my eyes open to look into his sneering face.

'Of course I'm afraid,' I whisper shakily. 'Wouldn't you be afraid if you were about to die?'

'I do not fear death,' he replies coldly. 'Would I have chosen the path I have chosen if I did?'

I've got to stop _shaking! _I can't die without my pride, I just can't!

He feels me tremble, of course. He grins at it.

'Oh, Mudblood, what am I going to do with you?'

I can't _stand _it! He saved my life yesterday only to take it away today after torturing me half to death, and not only that but he's toying with me when I'm about to die…

'I'll tell you what you could do,' I mutter vehemently. 'You could do me the common courtesy of calling me by name before you kill me.'

He sneers.

'Miss Granger-'

'Not Miss Granger,' I whisper, interrupting him. 'My name is Hermione.'

Hang on… haven't I said that to him before?

His eyes glimmer in recognition. I must have said it before, but I can't remember when…

'Your name _was _Hermione,' he says quietly. 'The dead have no need of names.'

The dead. Soon I will be one of them. I will no longer have a name; I will no longer exist…

'I'm not dead yet, _Lucius_,' I whisper.

His open palm smacks across my face, snapping my eyes shut with pain, more pain. How much more pain can I take before I die anyway? He would probably only have to Crucio me one more time and I'd be pushed over the edge into oblivion…

Oblivion. What if that's all there is, after all? What if there's nothing after death, just darkness, emptiness, oh God!

'Give it time,' he murmurs. 'I need only to whisper the incantation, and it will be done.'

But I'm dying anyway, I know that I am. And not just because of the unbearable pain of the past few hours. My life has been stripped away, gradually, ever since he captured me. Someone put a rope around my neck at the very moment he apparated into my bedroom at home and it's been tightened and tightened ever since.

And now the final breath of life will be taken away from me.

I force my eyes open, and they lock onto his.

When he looks at me, does he see me, I wonder? I mean really _see _me? Or does he just see the Mudblood that he's labelled me as?

It's not fair. When I look at him I don't just see Death-Eater, pure-blood, follower of Voldemort. I see Lucius Malfoy. I see everything he is – his arrogance, his pride, his determination, his cruelty. I see everything I hate in the world when I look at him, and all he can see is a Mudblood when he looks at me.

I must have gotten in deeper than he did.

_Did? You're using past tense already?_

'If you're going to kill me, then just get it over with.' My voice catches in my throat. 'But please, make it quick, and tell Ron and Harry that I'm sorry.'

His wand digs deeper into my throat, and I can't breathe or think but I keep my eyes on his. He can face up to what he's going to do. He can watch the light leave my eyes.

My heart still beats, not stopped yet. I can feel it in my chest as I wait for the incantation.

_Thud-thud._

_Thud-thud._

_Thud-thud._

But nothing comes.

His face is hard and his wand is planted firmly into my neck…

But he can't seem to make his eyes agree with what he wants to do.

_Help me help me help me! Please help me, God, if you're there, please!_

His lip curls up in fury and exasperation and he stands up, drawing his wand away from my throat. I can breathe again, and I massage at my throat.

'What are you-'

His boot slams into my ribs.

I cry out, curling up in pain. How can he do this to me when he's about to murder me? He's a sick, heartless-

'Get up.'

_What?_

I roll my eyes up to look at him, hardly daring to hope.

'You're not going to…?' I whisper incredulously.

His face is so full of hatred that he's got no colour in his skin at all.

'The Dark Lord said I could keep you alive if necessary,' he snaps.

No, he didn't. He said Lucius could keep me alive if he _wanted _to.

'If the Death Eaters fail to capture Potter then you will still be of use to us. So, come on, get up.'

_I… I can't believe it!_

I want to laugh and cry with relief. Everything's bright and clear and living, breathing…

I'm not going to die! I don't even think or care about whatever he'll do to me tomorrow, he's going to let me live! Christ knows why, but he is!

_Thank God, thank you thank you!_

'Come on,' he hisses, pointing his wand at me. 'Or do you want me to relinquish my decision to be merciful?'

I've got to get up. He looks furious; he could change his mind at any moment.

I roll onto my stomach and push myself up onto all fours, but my head swims and the room spins and I collapse again, shaking on the floor.

But I've got to get up! If I don't, he'll kill me…

There's a firm grip on my arm.

'Can you walk?' he asks quietly.

I nod, and I try to pull myself up again but I just collapse helplessly forward.

'Evidently, you can't.'

His fingers close round my wrist as he lifts my arm up, wrapping it around his neck. He puts one of his arms under my shoulders and the other under my knees, and lifts me up in his arms.

I know that I should be struggling. I don't want him to carry me, not after everything he's done, and it doesn't make any sense anyway because why doesn't he just Imperio me into walking with him?

It's just another sick game he's playing, I know it. And I've never really known the rules to the games he likes to play with me.

But right now, I just don't care. I'm so exhausted and miserable, and his arms are so warm around me, cradling me in warm release, like the Imperius curse, only so much more... I don't know.

I let my head fall against his chest, and the soft folds of his robes are warm on my cheek. I tighten my hold around his shoulders, folding my fingers around his neck, feeling the warmth of his skin underneath his hair.

I feel him stiffen for a second. Just for a second, less than that, before he walks forward, out of the door of this horrible black chamber.

After a few moments of walking down a dark corridor we come to some stairs; winding, spiralling stairs which take us downwards, down and down until they stop, coming out into another hallway, and when we turn a corner up ahead of us I can see a huge, elaborate door…

'So you decided to let the girl live, Lucius.'

My breath stops in my chest and Lucius spins around with me in his arms.

Voldemort stands behind us, half hidden in shadow, and he's watching us with a smile on his face.

'My Lord, I-'

'Don't try to kneel down. You'll only drop her.' He steps forwards from the shadows. 'I was hoping that you would let her live. Tomorrow's operation may well fail, and so she may still prove useful.'

I hear Lucius suck in his breath, and Voldemort smiles as he continues to stare at him unnervingly. I recognise the look: it's the way Lucius looks at me when he's performing Legilimency on me.

'You are wondering why I gave you the opportunity to kill her.' It's not a question.

'Forgive me,' Lucius replies swiftly. 'I mean no offence-'

'Of course you don't,' Voldemort replies, that horrible, lipless smirk remaining on his face. 'If you did then you would say what you think out loud rather than forcing me to withdraw it from your mind.'

I feel Lucius tense, and I experience something I haven't felt with him for a long while. A connection between us. The pair of us united in fear.

'I gave you the opportunity to kill her because I wanted to see what you would do,' Voldemort says after a while. 'If you had nothing to lose whichever option you took, would you let the girl live, or would you kill her?'

'My Lord, you cannot question my loyalty-'

'I must question where I have cause to suspect,' Voldemort cuts across Lucius. 'I have spoken with Antonin. He claims that your… conduct towards the girl has gone beyond the call of duty.'

Ice fills my insides and I feel Lucius' grip on me tighten. His fingers bite into my knees and my chest, as if he's forcing himself not to drop me.

'My Lord, Antonin is a liar,' Lucius says, and I have to admire his nerve for keeping his voice firm. 'He is angry with me because I stopped him from forcing himself upon the girl. If anyone's conduct needs to be questioned then it is his, not mine.'

'Indeed. I shall question him most thoroughly, for my stance on that particular matter of warfare still remains intact. Do what you will with a witch, but a Mudblood woman cannot be touched.' Voldemort's gaze flicks down to me for a second once again. 'Do you understand me, Lucius?'

'I always have, my Lord.' Lucius bows his head.

I start to shake slightly as Voldemort's gaze bores into me, his red eyes containing a world of evil that I never, ever want to know about.

'You may go,' he says quietly.

Lucius inclines his head and turns, pointing his wand at the door ahead of us which swings open, allowing us to leave this horrible place and get away from Voldemort and his horrible suspicions and lies.

And then I taste fresh air for the first time in days. _Weeks _maybe.

It's dark, so dark I can barely see where we are.

'_Lumos!_'

I look around us and all I can see are trees. Old, huge, twisted, gnarled trees. But when I look up as far as I can without lifting my head, I can see the night sky, dotted with stars.

Before I was captured, I'd had a life-long love affair with the night sky. When I was little I used to spend hours looking up at it, trying to count all of the stars. My dad had a book about outer space at home, and he used to sky-watch with me, pointing all the constellations out.

'Hold on to me,' Lucius mutters. 'We need to Apparate.'

I reach out silently and I weakly clutch at the front of his robe, pulling at the soft folds of fabric. He looks down at me for a second, but I just close my eyes.

And then I feel myself being pressed into an airless vacuum, smaller, smaller, until I'm about to burst and my eyes are going to pop into my head…

Cold, fresh air hits me again.

I open my eyes.

The lake. I'd recognise it anywhere – I still have nightmares about the…_things _that live in there.

He lays me down on the bank. I lie still, too exhausted to move anything but my fingers. I spread them out on the ground, feeling the cool blades of grass on my bare skin, savouring this one moment with something that isn't connected to blood and pain.

I stay perfectly still as he calls the boat out to us, collecting his blood in a vial to ward off the creatures of the lake.

I don't struggle as he wordlessly lifts me into the boat, climbing in after me and pushing it away from the bank.

Neither of us speak as we float across the water, his arm tight around my waist.

He doesn't comment as I lean back, resting my head against him in sheer exhaustion.

I barely notice as he entwines his hand in mine, wrapping his long, pale fingers around my own bruised and bloody ones.

* * *

'I don't see why you had to carry her here!' Bellatrix greets us as Lucius carries me into the house. She stands in the hallway, glaring at us both. 'Your speciality is the Imperius curse, Lucius. Couldn't you have cursed her into walking here?'

'Don't be so stupid,' Lucius replies coldly. 'I thought you prided yourself on your intelligence.'

Two pink spots appear high on her cheekbones. So _that's _where Draco got that little trait from, is it?

'Look at her.' Lucius completely ignores her obvious indignation. 'Look at the state she's in. She's hardly fit enough to walk, is she?'

'Well, _who_ put her in that state in the first place? Why don't you ask yourself that?' Bellatrix asks furiously, voicing my own thoughts precisely. 'You knew what the Dark Lord wanted you to do this evening. And anyway, what does it matter what state she's in? It wouldn't have killed her to walk, would it?'

'It may well have,' Lucius replies, his voice quiet and pulsing with suppressed anger.

Is she stupid, to push him like this? He's obviously angry, even I can tell that much, and I've only really got to know him over the past few weeks – she has to have known him for years.

Or does she actually barely know him at all?

'Believe me, I'm not carrying her around for the fun of it.'

She presses her lips together. 'Well then,' she sputters eventually, holding out her arms to him, 'I'll take her up to her room now. Or maybe Antonin can-'

'He will do no such thing,' Lucius replies icily. 'I am perfectly capable of doing this myself. Go to bed, Bella. We'll talk in the morning.'

He pushes past her with me in his arms and carries me up the stairs without saying another word to her.

'Will you come and see me tonight?' Bellatrix calls up the stairs.

He doesn't answer her.

He carries me to my room in silence, locking my bedroom door when we've entered it.

He lays me down on top of the soft covers of my bed, and my body sinks into the warmth of the mattress. It's so beautifully soft, so wonderfully comfortable.

I feel the mattress sink down slightly as Lucius sits on the edge of the bed. I freeze, my eyes widening.

One of his eyebrows flicks upwards.

'Afraid of me, Mudblood?'

'Of course I'm afraid of you.' My voice comes out as a whisper. 'I've always been afraid of you, and you know it.'

He smirks. 'At last, a little honesty. I have grown quite weary of your pretence of strength.'

I shake my head, my eyes filling with tears. 'Yes, because that's all it has ever been; a pretence.' I feel my heart sink with every word I say, because I'm speaking the truth, God help me. 'You were right when you said I was weak. Does that make you happy?'

He sneers slightly. ''Happy' is not the word I would use,' he says quietly.

'Good.' The tears fall out of my eyes and my voice cracks. 'Because I hate you for it, Lucius.'

A small smirk crosses his lips. '_That_ makes me happy. For there is no emotion stronger than hatred. I am pleased that I have such a strong effect on you.'

I close my eyes. He delights in my hatred of him, the bastard. He thrives on it. He's told me as much before.

But to deprive him of my hatred would be to deprive _me _of that hatred, and I can't let that be taken away from me. I _need_ to hate him. It's the one thing stopping me from going completely insane, because if I stop hating him then I just won't know what to think anymore.

Why am I even considering this? I hate him hate him _hate him_ – there's no question about that!

'No doubt you have always professed to hate.' His voice plunges into me like a needle, pulling out loathing and pain. 'My son, the Dark Lord, Severus Snape; no doubt you've claimed to hate all of them. I doubt you ever really knew what pure hatred was until I captured you. Tell me, do you know what true hatred is now?'

'Yes.' I open my eyes. 'Yes, I know what hatred is now. But I want you to know this - my one consolation during my time here has become the thought of your death. Believe me, when you die all of my hatred will die with you.'

He breathes a small laugh, reaching out and pushing a sticky strand of blood-soaked hair behind my ear.

'So, you wish to see me die. I can't say I blame you, after everything I've done to you. But tell me, do you think to perhaps _execute_ the sentence yourself, my little Mudblood? Is that what you're implying?'

He chuckles as I swallow sharply.

'I didn't think so, somehow. You just wouldn't have the nerve.'

_You're one to talk._

He points his wand at the dressing table, summoning over the bottle of healing lotion that rests there. He catches it and unscrews the lid, his eyes resting on mine.

I don't move as he uses his bare fingertips to apply the lotion to the new injuries on my face. The injuries he himself has caused.

It's so ridiculous, not to mention unfair. Does he think that he can just erase everything he's done to me today because he can make the wounds go away? What about the damage he's done to my soul, to my heart? Can _that _damage ever been undone?

He delicately traces the new gash on my cheek with the cool liquid. He does it slowly, the very tips of his fingers running over the opening in my skin.

I watch his face, waiting for any reaction he might show. But there's nothing. He's closed himself off. His eyes are as hard and solid as stone, and just as impenetrable.

I don't understand. Why doesn't he just heal me with his wand? Wouldn't that be quicker?

I have more injuries than just the one on my cheek. There are cuts and welts and bruises on my arms, my shoulders, my chest. He tends to them, as well. He rolls up each of my sleeves and strokes the lotion onto the injuries there, over the welts caused by the spell that whipped up and down my arms, over the burns he created with the tip of his wand, over the cuts he made with the knife.

And I know that I should hate it. I know that I should be screaming and raging at his hypocrisy, at his horrible mind games, at the fact that he even has control over healing me on top of everything else, putting me at his mercy in yet one more way.

But I can't hate it, somehow. How can I hate something that takes even a little bit of the pain away?

I close my eyes. I'm so tired. I just want to sleep.

But I can't ignore the pressure of his fingers.

Tears burn under my eyelids. I don't know why. I just feel like there's a huge knot being tied up in my chest, and every time he touches me it's like he's pulling at the knot, pulling it tighter, tighter, until I can't breathe.

Every time he touches me like this it's like he's touching my soul.

He rests his fingers on the base of my throat.

I open my eyes as my breath hitches in my chest. His gaze flicks up and locks onto mine.

I blink, and a lone tear rolls down my cheek, falling off my chin and landing on his finger.

He pulls his hand back quickly. 'Do try and compose yourself.'

I hastily wipe the traitorous salty droplets off of my cheeks.

He sneers. 'Do you never tire of weeping? Entertaining as they were at first, I have to admit your incessant tears are beginning to irritate me.'

I take a deep breath. 'Don't worry, Lucius.' I look him straight in the eye. 'You shall never see them again, I promise you that.'

He pauses at that, before he smirks at me. 'Will I not? Not even tomorrow, when you witness the death of your best friend?'

Fear clamps its hand round my heart, submerging me in icy water. 'He won't turn up at the Weasleys,' I say, half to him, half to myself. 'The Order won't let him. He knows that this whole thing is just a trap – he's not about to waltz right into it-'

'Ah, but he also knows what will happen to you if he doesn't comply with us.' He breathes a tiny laugh. 'He'll show up. He has too much to lose.'

'Including his life.' I try to keep my voice steely.

'Or that of his best friend. It's an interesting dilemma, isn't it? Especially for a brave, _honorable_ Gryffindor.' He smiles maliciously. 'But do you _really_ think that someone with such an elevated sense of nobility will allow his best friend to be killed in exchange for his own safety?'

I press my lips together. I'm not going to listen to him, because if I listen to him that'll make it real.

_Like it isn't real anyway!_

'You know, in a strange way I have a lot to thank you for.' His voice is like poisoned honey, as is his smile. 'It is thanks to you that we have Ron Weasley in our grasp, and it is thanks to you that the Weasleys have joined our ranks. You have provided us with wonderful information about the Order, and now you are about to prove to be a most effective piece of bait for the Dark Lord's nemesis.'

I wish he'd stop. If he doesn't stop then I'll cry again, and I can't let that happen.

He smiles and trails a finger down my cheek. 'And through my _work_ with you, I have risen to be a favourite of the Dark Lord once again. I'm deeply in your debt, Mudblood. You've given me… everything.'

How can he say that? How can he…?

I won't let him win this one.

'No,' I whisper. 'Not _everything._'

His smirk disappears and he stands up, stepping away from the bed, keeping his eyes on me.

'_Nox!_'

The room plunges into darkness.

_No, stop it, I can't be alone in the dark… with _you!

There's a small crackling sound, and then suddenly there's the tiniest amount of light.

I see him placing a small candle on my bedside table.

'You should sleep,' he mutters, but he shows no sign of leaving. He just stands there, watching me.

I look at him for a few seconds, before I sigh, too exhausted to argue. I turn onto my side and curl up into a ball. I don't even bother to pull the bed covers up over me, because I'm just too exhausted, and I don't want to sleep in front of him, but maybe I could pretend to fall asleep, and then he'll leave. Yes… I'll do that…

I'll shut my eyes…

…just…

for a little while…

* * *

Darkness. Silence. Dull pain in my limbs.

Burning. I can smell it…

The candle. It must be still be lit.

But I've been sleeping…

I curl my arms up onto my pillow and I stretch, arching my back away from the mattress.

I roll my head to the side, and I open my eyes.

My breath drifts over my lips in a sigh as my eyes widen.

I didn't know he was still here.

He freezes, his own eyes narrowing.

But… but I could have sworn that he was… _watching _me, with the strangest look in his eyes.

But he can't have been. No. It must have been hours since I fell asleep. The candle on my bedside table has burned down to a stub.

I keep my eyes on his for a moment, but his expression doesn't change from the new, hard look he's forced onto his face.

My eyes slowly close themselves again, exhaustion washing over me. Perhaps I'm just dreaming. Maybe that's it. Just a dream…

I fall back into the darkness of sleep.


	14. Twisted Negotiation

'_ESTRAGON: It'd be better if we parted.__  
VLADIMIR: You always say that, and you always come crawling back.  
ESTRAGON: The best thing would be to kill me, like the other.  
VLADIMIR: What other? _(Pause)_ What other?  
ESTRAGON: Like billions of others.' – _Samuel Beckett_, Waiting for Godot_

_The rules of the game are as follows - the players will take turns to make their moves. Do not reveal your hand to your opponent. If you choose to raise the stakes, do not bet more than you can afford to pay._

* * *

I start awake, consciousness ripping me out of my nightmares of blood and pain.

I can't even escape Lucius in my dreams. He's always there, at the back of everything. He haunts my nightmares just like he haunts my waking hours.

I press my cold fingertips to my eyelids, trying to push the nightmare deep inside of me. Deep inside, hidden until I sleep once again.

A draft pulls up goosebumps on my arms. I open my eyes, looking out into my room to see what's caused it, and a gasp drifts from my lips when I realise that I'm not alone.

Dolohov is standing there, placing a large silver basin on my dressing table. His gaze flicks up onto me and he straightens up, smiling at me.

My body shrivels up with terror and I pull my bedcovers up around me to shield myself from him, kicking myself back up against the headboard.

A smirk twists onto his face. 'You needn't bother. I have a great amount of work to do this evening, and so unfortunately I do not have the time to waste on you.'

His tongue floats over his lips.

I feel _sick_, like I'm going to vomit just from breathing the same air as him.

My gaze shifts over to the silver basin on my dressing table.

'It's called a Pensieve, Mudblood,' he says patronisingly.

'I know what it is,' I snap. 'What I want to know is; what's it doing on my dressing table?'

He smiles horribly. It's even worse than one of Lucius' smiles because at least Lucius… at least Lucius…

I _know _Lucius.

'I found it last night in Lucius' bedroom. Oh, I wasn't snooping around.' He waves a hand at the sceptical look on my face. 'No, nothing like that. I simply wished to borrow some money, and Lucius always seems so abundant in galleons that I thought he wouldn't miss a couple from his room.'

I choke back my automatic shout of disbelieving laughter.

'Anyway, I came across this,' he gestures at the Pensieve, 'in his room, and naturally I decided to take a quick look. And oh, the things I have seen. Tell me; would you know why Lucius has decided to keep a collection of certain memories concerning none other than yourself? Actually, I don't need you to answer that question. I can't say I blame him for it. If I were in his position, I wouldn't be very happy about the possibility of facing the Dark Lord, the greatest Legimilens the world has ever known, with _those_ memories floating around in my mind.'

Memories? Lucius has been storing away memories… about _me_?

'I thought a trip in the Penseive might provide you with some valuable insight into just how important you have come to be to your captor.' His mouth twists into another smile. 'And seeing as the Dark Lord seems to be so unwilling to believe me about Lucius' conduct towards you, I thought that I might at least tweak the situation for my own amusement.'

What the hell is he _talking _about?

He brings his wand out of his robe. 'I must confess, it would be entertaining to enter the Pensieve with you,' he says idly. 'But as I said earlier, I have certain tasks to carry out this evening, and so I simply don't have the time.'

Fear washes away my instant relief like cold water as he lowers his wand, pointing it at me.

'I must apologise in advance for what I am about to do,' he says mockingly. 'But I can't have Lucius finding out that I've been rooting through his possessions. I don't think he'd take too kindly to the idea. No, I think it would be best to let him believe that you found the Pensieve yourself.'

What did he mean by… by…?

'I wish you happy viewing, Mudblood.' He pulls a small silver key out of his robes, before he flicks his wand at me. '_Obliviate!_'

I start awake, consciousness ripping me out of my nightmares of blood and pain.

I can't even escape Lucius in my dreams. He's always there, at the back of everything. He haunts my nightmares just like he haunts my waking hours.

I press my cold fingertips to my eyelids, trying to push the nightmare deep inside of me. Deep inside, hidden until I sleep once again.

A draft pulls up goosebumps on my arms. I open my eyes, looking out into my room to see what's caused it.

Nothing. I must have imagined it.

The candle on my bedside table has gone out, but the candles on my wall are lit, casting a dull, golden glow across my room.

Lucius has gone, then. Unless he's spying on me from under an invisibility cloak again.

But… no. I was with Ron when he did that. He wouldn't spy on me when I'm by myself, it just doesn't make any sense.

_Is that why he was watching you sleep last night?_

I shiver, and I tell myself it's from the cold.

But I can't stop thoughts from popping up in my head like weeds.

Perhaps it really was just a dream, a… a nightmare.

I shake my head. Stupid. I must have been dreaming.

I breathe out a sigh.

What time is it, I wonder?

Time. That word sends a rush of alarm through me.

What if Harry's already gone to the Weasleys? What if he's already dead? What if he's already watched as the people he loved like parents stand alongside Voldemort for the sake of their real son, watched as the jet of green light shoots towards him…

I leap from my bed, scrambling across my room to the door, almost tripping over the hem of my dress in my haste.

I can stop it! I must be able to stop it, somehow! God, why didn't I try last night? Why was I so wrapped up in my own pain and my own misery that I didn't try to stop it from happening? I'm such a bitch, I'm _such _a bitch, how could I let it happen?

I throw myself at the door, banging my fists frantically on the solid wood.

But what can I do? Who am I trying to get through to?

I throw my head back and pull in a breath. '_Lucius!_' I scream, pounding my fists into the door with all my might. '_Lucius!_'

No answer. I call more names out of desperation. 'Bellatrix! Dolohov! _Lucius!_'

I press my ear against the door, waiting for the sound of footsteps, or a shouted answer, at least.

Nothing. Just silence.

I let out a scream of rage and I kick out at the door, bruising my toe, before I turn around and slam my body back into the solid wood, staring out hopelessly into my room.

_Stupid. Do you really think they'd try to save Harry's life just because you ask them to?_

A sinking, downwardly spiralling spin flies through my stomach.

I stay like this for a while, staring out blankly into my room.

It'll be alright. The Order won't let him go to the Burrow. And even if he _does_ go, he'll take the Order with him. The Order can win, they've done it before. Plus, the Weasleys won't let Harry be killed. They've treated him like a son all these years, why would they let him be murdered now?

I let those comforting thoughts wrap me up like a warm blanket. I can't let myself think anything else. I must believe them, because if I don't…

Wait a minute.

There's a… is that a _Penseive_?

It can't be! What would a Penseive be doing in my room?

I cautiously walk slowly over to the silver bowl that rests on my dressing table, peering inside of it.

But it really _is _a Pensieve. It's full of smoky wisps, twirling and swirling about in the bowl.

But whose memories are they? And what the hell are they doing in my room?

I look around me, suddenly nervous.

Maybe Lucius _is _here after all, in his invisibility cloak. Perhaps he wants me to look in the Penseive for some reason, and he wants to watch me do it.

But why would he want to do that?

'Why don't you stop hiding, you coward?' I mutter savagely.

No reply.

I turn back to the Penseive, looking down apprehensively at the curling, spinning smoke that fills the bowl. Without really thinking about what I'm doing, I reach out, placing the tips of my fingers into the smoke.

A hook catches at my waist, pulling me forwards, and I'm falling through smoke that turns and swirls around me and I'm spinning, spinning…

I land on my feet in a stone room.

It's almost like mine, but it's of much better quality. It's furnished well, with a four-poster bed and tapestries hanging from the walls.

It's another bedroom in this house, I think. Strange… it looks almost _homely_, if you could ever call this place 'home'.

Barely a second passes before two dark figures appear out of thin air. It's Lucius, holding onto the arm of an unconscious Dolohov.

Is this a memory of _that _night? The night Lucius became my saviour in some bizarre twist in the black plot that my life has become?

Lucius lets go of Dolohov's arm, sneering at his unconscious friend in genuine disgust before pointing his wand at him.

'_Innerverate!_'

Dolohov's eyes flicker open drowsily, and he grunts in pain as he sits up, clutching at his head with his hands.

'Get up, Antonin,' Lucius drawls. 'Show some dignity for once in your life.'

Dolohov stumbles to his feet, laughing bitterly. '_Dignity_, Lucius?' He dusts himself off. 'Was it _dignity_ that brought you to the little slut's rescue, I wonder?'

Lucius grabs hold of him, dragging him viciously across the room and pinning him to the wall by his throat. And oh, Dolohov looks afraid then. He looks in terror at the wand Lucius points into his face. All the terror and fear I felt that night are now present in that slimy bastard's face, oh yes.

'This is not a game,' Lucius murmurs. 'She's a Mudblood. A piece of Muggle filth. If she were a witch then it would be a different matter, but a Mudblood cannot be touched, you know that.'

Dolohov's face contorts with rage. 'Of course I know it, Lucius,' he hisses. 'Haven't you told me so _many_ times? It's amazing how it's one rule for you and another for the rest of us, isn't it? I wonder what the Dark Lord would think about Lucius Malfoy, champion of the pureblood cause, playing with a filthy little muggle.'

Lucius takes a deep breath through his nose, his face harsh and white with suppressed fury. 'As long as you promise never to suggest such a disgusting thing again, I am prepared to let that insult go.'

Dolohov just smiles. 'Do I hit too near the mark, Lucius?' He practically spits the words at him. 'Does what I suggest ring a little too true for you?'

'I'm warning you, Antonin-'

'We know all about it, you know. Bellatrix and I, we've discussed it. She hates it, you know. _Hates_ what you're getting up to with the little bitch. God knows why you're fucking a plain little Mudblood when you've got a woman like Narcissa as your wife and a woman like Bellatrix in your bed. But then, maybe you just want to get your hands dirty-'

Lucius smashes his fist into Dolohov's face. He recoils, clutching at his nose and yelling in pain as blood seeps out between his fingers.

'You're a disgrace, Antonin,' Lucius says coldly. 'Don't accuse me of indulging in the same perverse practices as you. I wouldn't touch the ugly little Mudblood with a bargepole, and you know it.'

Whispers of spoke curl through the air and Lucius' words float away as the room disappears around me, and I come to land again in a room I recognise this time. The dark red light threatens to suffocate me as I find myself in that horrible, horrible cellar.

And _I'm _there, rage at Lucius, screaming and shouting, my arms flailing and my face blotchy.

'So who would you suggest that I _waste myself_ on, then? Someone like you, is that what you're suggesting?'

My stomach plummets.

God, did I… did I really _say _that?

I watch, horrified, as Lucius puts his fingers to my lips. 'Be quiet my little Mudblood.'

He pulls me closer to him, pulls my hips up to his. The memory of me shivers in his arms, and closes my eyes as he moves his face close to mine, close enough to-

But then he pulls my head back and slams it into the stone wall. I flinch with remembered agony.

'How dare you suggest that I would even _contemplate_ such a thing?' I can see his face this time as he whispers in my ear. It's pale and harsh with absolute fury. 'Do you really think that I'd dirty my hands on any Mudblood, let alone you… _you_! Good god, just _look _at yourself! I'd sooner throw myself off a cliff than touch _filth _like you.'

The scene shimmers in front of me and all at once I'm falling and spinning through smoke once more, tumbling through the mist and fog of Lucius' memories.

Because that must be what they are. They _must_ be his memories - he's the only person who has been in both memories so far.

Though God knows why there's a Penseive full of his memories in my room. Did he put it there deliberately? Does he _want _me to be seeing this stuff?

If he does, it doesn't make any sense. Why does he want me to watch _these_ memories?

Maybe he doesn't. Maybe… oh, I don't know. Maybe he left it there by accident, or something.

_Don't be an idiot, Hermione. He's far from stupid._

But then that means…

I emerge from the fog in another bedroom, a lot like Dolohov's but bigger, grander.

And the room's not empty this time. Bellatrix is there, sitting on the very edge of the four-poster bed, her whole body rigid and her fingers clenching into the mattress beneath her.

She's looking out into the room, her black eyes feverish but focused on nothing. Her lips are pressed together so firmly that the skin around them has turned white.

The door to the room bangs open, snapping her to attention. She stands up to face Lucius, who storms into the room, obviously furious for some reason. But the expression on her face matches the anger on his.

'Where have you been?' she demands furiously.

Lucius sighs, shutting the door behind him without even looking at her. 'The Mudblood,' he says simply, and her face visibly tenses at his words. 'She was… creating problems. My business with her overran.'

'I don't see why you need to be spending any time with her at all!' Her voice rises furiously as she speaks. 'You finished your questioning of her days ago. Why do you still need to spend so much time with her?'

He gives her a warning look but he doesn't snap, not yet. He walks over to the table, looking down at the glasses of jewel-red liquid that rest there.

'What kind of wine is this?' he asks.

'Like it makes any difference!' she shouts. 'Do you know when I got back after going to see the Dark Lord? Four hours ago. When I got back you said you would come to see me within half an hour.'

'And I am sorry for it,' he says with exaggerated patience. 'But she proved to be more difficult than I thought she would.'

'Why do you spend so much time with her?' She's almost screaming now. 'What could possibly be so interesting about the little muggle bitch that you spend _all_ your time with her?'

'Bella, calm down.'

'_No, I won't!_ How can I calm down when you're deliberately setting out to humiliate me?'

'No-one is humiliating you-'

'_I hate you!_' she screams suddenly, grabbing the glasses of wine from the table and throwing them at the wall. They smash against the stone, the shattered glass hanging suspended for a moment before falling to the floor, leaving a trail of red in their path.

'Oh for God's sake!' Lucius yells, and she rails at him, trying to scratch at his face with spread, claw-like nails, but he catches at her wrists, holding them just inches away from his eyes.

'I know you!' she hisses at him. 'If you haven't already had her, then you will soon enough. You're too proud to admit that there's something in this world that you can't have!'

He draws back his hand, as if he's about to slap her in the face. I know that he would if it were me. But he lowers his hand after a few seconds, his face suffused in temper.

'I am a proud man, indeed,' he says quietly. 'But at least _I _am not insane.'

Smoke curls up around me, blocking the scene from me as I float once more through the fog.

She's… she's out of her mind! She needs help, serious help.

I smirk at the thought of Bellatrix Lestrange on a psychiatrist's couch. If anyone ever needed serious therapy, it's her.

I emerge from the mist, and I'm in my bedroom once again. My bedroom in this prison that they call a house.

But I'm not out of the Penseive. I know that because I can see _myself_ right in front of me, sleeping on my bed in the blood-stained white dress I'm wearing now. The flickering light of the candle on my bedside table casts eerie shadows across the room.

And… _he's_ here too, watching me sleep just as I thought I dreamed he was doing.

But I can't have been dreaming. The evidence to the contrary plays itself out in front of me, like a bizarre version of CCTV footage.

I'm lying curled up on my side, and he's leaning against the wall, staring down at me from under lowered eyelids, and… and…

The memory of me stretches up, with my arms around my head, arching my back up away from the mattress, and my memory's mouth falls open and breathes out a sigh.

My stomach knots itself to see it. I look at Lucius to see one of his eyebrows raise a fraction.

But then the memory Hermione's eyes flicker open, focusing on him, and his face instantly hardens.

But now it's confirmed. I wasn't dreaming, and I wasn't imagining the look on his face. I now know for certain how he was looking at me as I… as I _slept_.

'What are you _doing_?'

Ice wraps itself round my heart, because that voice didn't come from the memory I'm standing in.

I spin around to see another Lucius standing in the room, so now there are two Lucius' and two Hermiones. One Lucius watches the memory of Hermione intently, while the other is staring at me, the _real _me, with a face full of white hot rage.

I try to turn, to run god knows where, but he's too quick. He's next to me in two strides and he grabs me by the hair, burning my scalp with his grip and I'm being dragged up, up through smoke and mist…

I land with him in my room. My real room, not the one from the memory. The solid bang of the wooden floor on my knees tells me that this environment is no memory.

He drags me up onto my feet and across the room, slamming me into the wall with his hand clasped painfully around my throat. He stares at me with such rage that it terrifies me.

'How _dare _you?' His knuckles snap against my cheek as he slaps me hard. 'You filthy little Mudblood, how _dare _you?'

'I'm sorry,' I sputter desperately. 'I'm really sorry! I didn't know they were your memories!'

'No?' He spits his words at me. 'Who else's would they have been? You stole that pensieve from my room, you little thief! Don't tell me that you didn't believe it was mine when you took it from my own room!'

'I just… woke up and it was here, I swear!' Even as I say the words I know how ridiculous they sound. Why should he believe such a rubbish explanation, even if it _is_ the truth? 'I _didn't _steal it!'

'You LIAR! Why on _Earth _would it be in here? I haven't moved it from my room once!'

'_I DIDN'T STEAL IT!_' I scream. 'How could I have done? I've been locked in here ever since you left me!'

He holds me by my hair, holding me so close that I can see every harsh line of fury on his face.

He points his wand right between my eyes. 'Well, however you came to view those memories, you won't remember them.' His voice struggles to keep calm. 'I shall make sure of that.'

And I know then what he's planning to do. It doesn't even take me a second to work it out.

'_No you will not!_' I struggle furiously against him. 'You will _not_ obliviate me, you coward!'

'DON'T CALL ME A COWARD!' he yells.

'FINE!' I scream back. 'Go ahead, obliviate me. You'll need to, I suppose, after the things I've seen, you _coward_! I've seen you fighting with your friends about me, I've seen you watching me as I sleep-'

'_CRUCIO!_'

Oh _god_, NO! I can't _take_ it… burns and _claws_ and rips, a huge MONSTER tearing me apart, eating me alive - never ending, all encompassing _pain_! Fire, and ice, and more fire BURNING through me, white hot wires _slicing_ through nerves, bones, skin, muscle, please, please, pleasestopplease, burning alive, ashes, ashes, got to _finish, _I can't TAKE it anymore. Never ending, never ending, blood boiling, brain melting, nerves shredding, I can't, oh god, please, just _let me die_, need to die, need that release, _let me die_, PLEASE!

Crumpled in a heap on the floor. Heartbeat roaring in my ears.

Everything hurts, still. The _memory_ of pain hurts.

Got to breathe…

Breathing hurts.

He's never gone that far before. He's never, ever let it last that long, never let it go so far, so extreme.

Fingers hook into my chin, pulling my head up slightly from the ground.

I open my eyes. His features are thick with rage.

And I know that I don't care. He can obliviate me, because I don't want to fight him, not again, not anymore. I would do anything and everything before I go through even the slightest _breath_ of that pain again.

'Go on, then,' I whisper weakly. 'Go ahead and obliviate me. I don't care, just do it.'

A muscle goes in his jaw, and he stands up, kicking out at me. I coil in on myself, crying out on pain as his boot crushes my ribs and tears of agony burst from my eyes and roll down my cheeks.

'Get up, you filthy little Mudblood, _get up!'_

'I _can't_,' I whisper, my voice cracking with tears as I curl up in agony and misery and sheer exhaustion.

I keep my eyes shut tight, and a huge, engulfing silence swells up between us, a silence full of unspeakable words.

He breaks the silence.

'How did you manage to get hold of it?'

I shake my head, although I don't know what difference it'll make.

'I didn't,' I say weakly. 'I promise you, I just woke up and it was on my dressing table.'

'And you expect me to believe that?'

My eyes fly open. 'How could I have gotten hold of it? Just think about it. I've been locked in here.'

He runs a horrible disdainful glance over me, his lip curled up in true disgust. 'Perhaps you made a _deal_ with Antonin,' he says quietly. 'Perhaps you offered to let him get his hands on you if he did you a service in return.'

He might as well have slapped me in the face.

I sit up, shaking with the depths of my indignant rage. 'How can you say that? How can you even _suggest_ it, for god's sake?'

His pale face arches with distaste. 'Perhaps you realised that although you may not have much to offer there's always _one_ method of payment a woman can offer a man.'

My skin crawls.

'You bastard,' I whisper, hating him. I thought he knew me better than that.

He strides over to me and grabs me by the hair, wrenching me up and pinning me against the wall. Tears sting my eyes as fear clamps its icy hand around my heart.

'Please-' I whisper.

But he just hooks his wand under my chin, placing the cool wood against my neck.

It's strange, how an _object_ can hold so much power. Right now, it's just wood. Cold, inanimate wood, that's all it is. Stupid to feel so frightened of it, really.

_Yeah, right._

'What did you see?' he asks quietly, his eyes boring into mine.

What did I see? I saw Bellatrix and Dolohov hating him because of me. I saw him letting me think that he would rape me. I saw him watching me as I slept.

'Nothing important,' I mutter.

His face is mere centimetres away from mine.

Can he see what I saw? Does he know what I've seen?

He steps back, slapping me so hard across the face that my head snaps backwards and I slide down the wall, down and down until I reach the floor.

'Damn you!' he mutters in a savage undertone. 'Damn you to hell!'

He turns around and summons the penseive to him before he disappears with a flick of his cloak.

I curl up into a tight ball, waiting for the shivering to subside. Trembles of pain run through me still, or is it only remembered agony?

I close my eyes, wanting to block everything out.

'_I know you. You're too proud to admit that there's something you can't have._'

My body shrivels up with the memory of Bellatrix's words, and all the implications they have.

I shudder, hugging my arms around myself.

What if… what if what she said wasn't so ridiculous after all?

When I woke up I would have thought nothing of it. I would have though that she was a stupid jealous bitch who was only creating trouble for me because she's jealous of me, for some reason.

But now… after I've seen how he was watching me sleep…

I… I can't bear it! I don't know what to think!

But he wouldn't, would he? I'm a Mudblood, he wouldn't ever _want _to… he's told me over and over again that he wouldn't.

His contempt and his hatred have become, in some perverse way, the only things that protect me. I can't let them be taken away from me, I just can't.

_So you want him to hate you? You needn't worry about that. He probably hates you more than anything else in the world._

A shifting noise.

My eyes flicker open.

He's back. His snarl of fury remains in place.

'Get up!'

I scramble to my feet, and I stand shaking in front of him.

'What you have done today, I am prepared to ignore,' he says with forced composure. 'Neither of us will ever speak of it again, do you understand?'

I nod gratefully, swallowing my indignation.

He narrows his eyes at me. 'In any case, in light of recent events a few memories matter very little, wouldn't you agree?'

I gulp. 'Recent events?'

He smirks mirthlessly.

A stone sinks in my stomach. 'Harry?'

His smirk is replaced by a sneer as he rolls his eyes. 'He's alive, if that's what you're wondering. Alive and… free.'

There's no air at all in my lungs.

'Free?' I repeat the little word breathlessly.

He shakes his head in irritation. 'He wasn't _there_, Mudblood. He didn't turn up. Either he's managed to close his mind off to the Dark Lord, something I find highly unlikely in a boy of his age, or he chose to leave you to your suffering.'

But I'm smiling. I'm smiling because I don't care that Harry didn't come to rescue me. I'm not selfish like Lucius is – I don't see my own needs as being more important than the greater good. Harry is alive, and he can still win the war – that's all that matters.

'Don't you dare smile, you little bitch,' he says violently.

I push the smile off my face with some difficulty. Harry's alive. I could almost dance with relief!

'You have little reason to smile,' he drawls. 'I have been ordered to provide the Dark Lord with some more incentive for Potter to come and rescue you.'

A hot-cold rush of fear sweeps over me.

'Please,' I mutter desperately, reaching out and grabbing his hand. 'Please, don't torture me again, I beg of you-'

He shakes my hand away, rewarding me with a stinging hex across my cheek. 'Don't touch me, Mudblood.'

Oh god. More torture, more pain. Isn't he just going to _love _punishing me for watching those memories of his?

I hate him so _much_!

'Besides, whoever said anything about me torturing you?'

I look at him, hardly daring to breathe, hardly daring to hope.

He smirks. 'Or perhaps you do not yet find the incessant torture as tedious as I do. If you're so eager for me to revert to old habits then I have no objections. I just thought we might like to probe some more… interesting options.'

Damn him. Why does he have to twist everything? Every conversation I ever have with him just gets tangled like a blood clot until I can't make sense of it anymore.

I shake my head, swallowing my pride. 'I don't want you to torture me.'

He smiles horribly. 'Good. I am pleased to see that you are open to the idea of more interesting alternatives. We shall explore those options most thoroughly, you and I.'

I press my lips together for fear of the unknown.

_Breathe. Breathe. In. Out._

'Tell me, has your _dear_ friend Harry ever met your parents?'

'You know that he has,' I mutter. 'Why do you-'

My words stop.

My heart stops.

_No. NO!_

He's still smiling.

'You disappoint me, Mudblood. I expected you to be quicker off the mark than that.'

I can't think for the awfulness of it. All I can think is _No!_

'You can't-' I whisper breathlessly.

'I think you'll find that we can,' he replies smoothly. 'Of what importance could two filthy muggles be to us? They're perfectly disposable, as far as we're concerned.'

I'm numb with horror. Can't breathe, think, feel…

I just stutter out words of pure fear and desperation.

'Please.' I grip at the front of his robes by the lapels. 'Please don't hurt them. I beg of you, please, they haven't done anything to deserve it!'

He laughs with pure malice. 'They brought an abomination like you into the world, didn't they? Besides, you needn't worry. We have no intention of _hurting _them. The Avada Kedavra curse is designed to be as painless for the victim as possible.'

'Avada Kedevra?' I whisper.

He smirks without any joy, his eyes completely at odds with his lips, and my horrible fears are confirmed.

My entire world is being ripped apart. It hurts like no other torture ever has done before. Crucio is sweet in comparison to this.

'Please don't kill them,' I babble frantically. 'Do anything, I beg of you. You can torture me, kill me instead, I don't care, but please, please don't kill them-'

'But why would we want to kill _you_ while Potter still lives?' he asks. 'Why would we throw away such a prime piece of bait? We could kill your parents to show Potter just how serious we are about killing you, and no doubt he will then come running.'

I gasp at the horror of it. His pale, evil face swims in front of me, and I think I'm going to faint.

'Please.' My voice cracks. 'Please, I beg you, you don't have to do it!'

'I'm afraid I do,' he murmurs. 'These orders come from the Dark Lord himself. You are my responsibility, therefore it falls to me to deal with your family.'

The tears come thicker out of my eyes as I search his face for any hint of emotion, any at all. And there is something, something deep in his eyes, hidden, where no-one can see it.

'Please, if you have any compassion, any pity for me… if you feel anything for me at all-'

He cuts off my words with a hard slap across the face.

'Feel anything? For _you_?' The malicious smile has vanished from his face. 'You don't even _exist _to me, you filthy little Mudblood!'

'That's not true, and you _know _it!' I know I should shut up, but I can't. I've got to got to _got to _save my mum and dad. 'If I meant nothing to you then you would have killed me when you had the chance-'

He draws back his hand to slap me again but I fall to my knees by his feet before he can do anything.

'I'm begging you on my _knees_, please don't do this!' I'm crying, lost in desperate misery. Sobs tear out of me, despite my best efforts to keep them down. 'I'll do anything, but please don't kill them!'

He smiles down at me cruelly with eyes as hard as stone. 'I told you this would happen in the end, didn't I?' he drawls viciously. 'I told you I'd make you beg on your knees in the end.'

'_Well I'm doing it!_' My voice cracks and wavers as sobs burst out of me in hot waves. 'I'm doing what you want, I'm begging on my knees. I will grovel by your feet every moment of every day if you just let them live, please, I _beg _of you!'

There's no emotion at all on his face. He's forced it all away from him.

'No.'

'WHAT DO YOU _WANT _FROM ME?' I scream helplessly. 'I'll do anything you want, please, anything!'

He rips his robes out of my hands and grips me by the shoulders, wrenching me to my feet and pinning me against the wall.

'And _what_,' he hisses, pressing his body into mine, 'do you think that _you _could ever offer me to make me disobey my orders?'

I swallow sharply, my tears drying on my cheeks with this new, sudden fear that envelopes me in it's cold embrace.

Fear. Lucius Malfoy has become it's personification for me. Lucius Malfoy is Fear, and it's Fear that pushes me into the cold stone behind me now.

My mouth falls open stupidly as I try to say something, but words won't come.

He laughs. I shiver.

'Lost for words for once, Mudblood? Has that infernal tongue of your been stopped, finally?'

What can I say?

He trails his finger down my cheek, down my neck, and I can feel a scorching, burning blush creeping across my face. He sees this, of course; his eyes never leave my face. He smirks.

'You arrogant little muggle,' he murmurs silkily. 'What could _you_ have to offer me?'

My stomach curls up with humiliation. I just want to sink to the floor and die.

I turn my head away, tears swelling up in my eyes. My parents… oh god, my mum and dad.

Merciless fingers hook into my chin.

'Look at me.' He murmurs the words, then trails his finger up and down my neck. Up… and down…

I catch my breath in a tiny gasp. He raises his eyebrow.

'You thought to make an exchange, then.' His fingers creep down my neck, down, brush over my bare shoulder. 'But you seem to forget; your skills in negotiation are somewhat lacking. You threatened to kill me once, remember? You offered me my life in exchange for your freedom. And look at where you poor skills of negotiation got you then.'

Yes, look where they got me. Hours of punishment at his hand. Being used as bait for Harry. Parents that are about to be murdered for his cause. And now… him. Pressing me into the wall, with his fingers on my neck. _Voila._ What results I achieved for that one moment of idiotic naivety.

'Now.' His fingers trace along my bare shoulder. 'What do you propose to offer me today, seeing as it's not my survival that's on the table?'

He can't mean… no, it can't possibly be what it sounds like. I'm a muggle-

_No you're not. He only _thinks_ you're a muggle, remember?_

That's not the point. I am a muggle, he thinks I'm a muggle; either way he'd never want to… he'd never want to…

'Hmm.' His fingers hook into the neckline of my dress, easing it gently off my shoulder, leaving it horribly bare. 'You don't seem to be very forthcoming in your desire to offer me something in return for your parents' lives.'

I gulp.

He _does _mean that. He must do.

But… why?

I try to stop myself from shaking. 'I…'

He circles his thumb over the gentle curve of my bare shoulder, tying a knot low down in my stomach. 'Well?'

No, I'm not going to play this game with him. He'll have to force me if he wants to… wants to… oh _god_, how did I end up in this situation?

'I'll admit that I'm a muggle,' I say desperately. I hear my own words and I realize how stupid they sound. 'Once and for all, I'll genuinely admit it.'

'And what difference would that make to me?' He's almost laughing at me. 'I don't need you to confirm your status as a filthy little muggle to me.'

I suck in my breath.

His thumb skates tiny figures of eight over my shoulder as his body presses into mine. I can't breathe for the weight of him. One hand on my shoulder, the other on my waist. And one knee gently nudging between my own…

My insides lock.

Too close, always too close. He's nothing like Ron, who if anything has always been too afraid to get close to me although I wanted him to. Lucius… he's always been to close for comfort.

'I… I'll serve the Death-Eaters.' The words fly out of my mouth before I can even think about them.

His eyebrow flicks upwards.

Oh god, what did I say?

Could I do it? Could I join these… creatures?

No, I couldn't.

But then… I can't let my mum and dad die, either.

'So, you'd join the Death-Eaters to save your parents.' He's smirking at me. 'Admirable, for such a close friend of Harry Potter's. I always had you down as a definite future member of the Order.'

His fingers leave my shoulder, skating up to my face. He knots his fingers through my hair and wraps them around the back of my neck. And… I can't help it. I tip my head against them, slightly. Only slightly.

'But there's a flaw in that offer that you've overlooked,' he goes on in that horrible drawl. 'You're a Mudblood. Mudbloods and Muggles are not permitted in the Dark Lord's service. Seeing as one of our chief goals is to eliminate your kind, your presence in our ranks would prove to be rather self-contradictory.' His fingers shift to my bare shoulder again, pulling the neckline of the dress down yet further. 'So perhaps you might wish to _enhance_ your offer.'

But… but why would he want me for… for _that_? He's always said that he would never, ever…

He slips my robe further down my arm, and I claw out with my opposite hand, gripping at his hand.

He breathes a laugh. 'Such modesty. But I thought you said you would do _anything _to save your parents.'

I want to shrivel up and die.

'You said once that you would never touch me,' I say quietly, desperately. 'You said that you'd sooner die than touch _filth _like me.'

His lip curls up. 'Why, so I did.' He uncurls my fingers from his wrist, before he brushes his fingers onto my cheek, running his thumb over my lips. 'But this was not _my_ suggestion, was it? It was _you_ that suggested that you would go to any lengths to save your parents' lives. Would you let go of your pride, I wonder? Would my proud little Mudblood surrender herself to me, body and soul?'

So this is all about pride, then. This is all about the fact that he _still _wants me to admit that he's got all reaching power over me.

But what can I do? He's twisted it all around so it seems like it's _my _fault and it's not, it's _not_!

He looks at me from under lowered eyelids, a small smile playing about his lips. A dangerous, predatory look.

But… but I'm a _Mudblood_. He hates me just for being _born_! I don't understand.

_Does it matter if you understand or not? Do you want to save your parents – that's the question you have to ask yourself._

His thumb brushes over my bare collarbone, then down further.

A hot blush creeps across my face because I feel so... naked. He's seen me naked, really naked, before, of course he has, but now…

He's never suggested… this. There was never any _real_ possibility of it going this far.

_Wasn't there?_

I don't know. Maybe this has been a likelihood all along.

'So what's it to be, Mudblood?'

I swallow. My cheeks and nose sting with tears. 'I…' God, this is so unbelievably horrible. Why can't he ask for _anything_ else? 'I've never…'

My words trail off, my humiliation swallowing them whole.

He smirks. 'That wasn't an answer to my question, was it?' he drawls, as if he knows exactly what I was going to say. 'I asked whether you would surrender yourself to mywill in order to allow your parents to live.'

Oh, he's so _foul_! He just doesn't care that he's asking my _permission_ basically to… to… I won't think about it.

He doesn't even find me attractive. He's made that clear time and time again. This is about power, nothing else, and I can't… I can't _stand _it!

But… I can't do anything else, can I? I can't let my parents die.

I wish _I _were dead.

He raises an eyebrow at me, his fingers trailing up and down my shoulder.

Blinking back my tears, I nod. 'Alright. Yes.'

For a moment there's an ugly look in his eyes. They're… darker than their usual pale grey, somehow. Much darker...

He reaches his hand out, gently tracing down the side of my face, delicately skating his fingers from my temple to my chin. His lips part slightly as he drops his eyes for a second, letting them run over my body until they come to rest on my face again.

I shiver.

He pulls back his hand and he breathes a small, malicious laugh.

I swallow sharply. His laughter stabs me in the heart.

'It's just as well that I don't want you then, isn't it?'

My heart drops down to my knees and I go dizzy. 'What?'

He pulls in his laughter, sneering at me.

'My dear girl, do you really think that I'd dirty my hands on _you_?' He rakes a disdainful glance over me. 'Did you really think that I'd give up my principles and my duty to the Dark Lord just so that I could sully myself with a filthy Mudblood?'

'But…' _But why did you let me believe that you would? Why did you even let me think that there was a chance to save my parents? Why were you watching me sleep last night? Why, why, why? _'But why did you-'

'I just wanted to see what your reaction would be,' he says smoothly. 'And now I know just how far you would go to save those you love. It all adds to the mix, Mudblood. I'd never touch you, god knows why anyone would _want _to, but it's most satisfying to know that if I had the inclination then I could with perfect ease.'

I can't _believe _him!

'My parents-' I breathe desperately.

He sneers as he walks to the door. 'Do not concern yourself over them. Within twenty-four hours, chances are you will have no parents.'

'_NO_!' I rush at him, clawing at his arm desperately. 'Please, _please _don't do this-'

'_Impedimenta!_'

His pale face, containing a world of emotions that I never want to know about, retreats as I fly back and back, and my skull cracks against stone and I'm thrown into dark unconsciousness.


	15. Grief

'_Methought I heard a voice cry 'Sleep no more!_ _Macbeth does murder sleep... Glamis hath murder'd sleep, and therefore Cawdor_ s_hall sleep no more; Macbeth shall sleep no more.' - _William Shakespeare_, Macbeth_

* * *

Think, think.

_The ingredients of Polyjuice Potion-_

_lacewing flies stewed for 21 days,  
leeches,  
powdered bicorn horn,  
knotgrass,  
fluxweed picked at full moon,  
shredded boomslang skin,  
a bit of who you want to turn into…_

Yes, I think that's it. Or have I forgotten anything?

_Like it'll make any difference anyway._

Shut up, shut UP!

He won't do it. I know that he won't do it…

But what if he does?

No, NO. I'm not thinking about it.

But how can I not think about it? Getting in the bath, changing my robe, cleaning my room, running through my textbooks in my mind – they've all been pretty sorry exercises in trying to keep my mind off it, so far.

No. He won't do it. I know that he won't. He's just messing with my mind. He's sick, he's twisted. He'd do anything for a bit of sadistic enjoyment at my expense.

He just wanted to see me beg. He just wanted to see how far I'd be willing to go. And he's seen now, hasn't he, the sick bastard, he's seen how far I'd go. And doesn't he just relish it?

I don't understand him. I thought I did, but I don't, not really. I thought I knew all there was to know about his feelings towards me, but after what happened when I last saw him I don't know what to think…

But if Voldemort's ordered him to do it…

No. I won't think it. I won't I won't.

He wouldn't.

_He might._

No. I _know_ him-

The door bangs open.

I scramble to my feet as he steps into the room without looking at me. He closes the door behind him, locks it silently.

And then, only then he looks at me.

His expression flickers.

And then I know that it's over.

_Over._

He's not smiling, and he's not angry. Once again genuine emotion has betrayed him. He has hurt me in the worst way possible, and he knows it, and that's why he's looking at me like he is now.

…oh…

Silence. Blank, barren horror.

Then-

-a scream.

_My_ scream.

It hits me suddenly. Such pain and such misery as I have never known. Their faces float around in my mind, but I'll never see them again. I can search and search and search all I like but I'll never, ever see them again!

My fingers tug at my hair.

I can't stop screaming. It's a primal thing beyond my control.

Nothing matters anymore, oh my god, he really did it! I never, ever, oh god oh god ohgodohgodohgodohgodohgod!

My nails rip into my skin as I pull my hands down my cheeks. I should hurt more - my body should be torn to shreds if the pain I feel inside should surface. They're dead, they're _dead_!

And he stands there, saying _NOTHING!_

He watches me in silence, watches me cry, and I can't stand it, I can't STAND it!

I pull in my sobs enough to speak.

'They're dead, aren't they?'

He stands there, perfectly still, his face hard. Something inside of me shatters. He… he stands there… he killed them, he KILLED them!

'_DON'T JUST STAND THERE LIKE YOU'RE MADE OF STONE!_' I scream.

If I didn't know any better I'd say that he flinched slightly at my words.

'What do you want me to do, Mudblood?' he asks quietly, his voice giving nothing away. 'What do you want from me?'

It's like he's ripping me apart from the inside out. I can't even speak for hate. I'm shaking and shaking, my parents, my parents, oh _god…_

Finally I force words to come.

'What do I _want?_' I choke on wild laughter. 'I want you to undo what you did. I want to see my parents again, but that's not going to happen, is it?'

He's looking at me with an expression that looks like disgust. It's as if he's never seen anything like what he's seeing at this moment in time – something repugnant, alien to him in every way.

'I want you to go up to that balcony you pulled me back from and throw yourself off of it.' My voice rises slowly to a scream. 'I want you to _die_, Lucius Malfoy! I want you to suffer so much that you wish you'd never been born! I want-'

But words won't come, not anymore. Can't think, can't live without them, hate him hate him _hate him!_

I whip my hand out and I slap him hard across the face. His head turns with the force of it, his cheek turning pink, but he just blinks, taking a deep breath through his nose.

Why isn't he hurting? Why can't he hurt like I do? Why can't he feel anything fucking _human,_ why why _why?_

I slap him again, and again. I hit his face, his arms, his chest, but he says nothing. He doesn't stop me, but I _want _him to stop me. I want him to hurt me back, to give me some kind of physical compensation for the crippling pain I feel inside of me.

I scream at him, screaming incomprehensibly and hitting him, slapping him, hurting him, hating him. My parents, oh god, I loved them so so so much and I'll never be able to tell them, never, ever!

'You _bastard!_ You evil, cowardly BASTARD! How could you? How _could _you?'

Slap. Smack. Slap. Smack. _Hurthimhurthim HURT HIM!_

He lets me do it. He doesn't try to stop me. Perhaps he doesn't feel, doesn't hurt like everyone else.

Bastard.

Bastard.

BASTARD!

'_Why did you do it_?' I slap him uselessly, stupidly, what good will it do? 'Why? You evil bastard, _WHY_?'

He snaps. He had to eventually, didn't he? He grabs hold of my wrists, holding them just inches from his face. His face, suffused in anger, is only inches away from mine. It's white, pure white, with no colour in it at all.

'I did what I had to do,' he whispers slowly. 'I did not volunteer for the task; I was ordered to do it.'

'You could have refused-' I hiss back.

'Why would I do that?' he says with terrible finality. 'You see, there's the difference between you and I. I am able to see past the means I have to use to achieve my ends. It's not what I have done, it's what it will achieve that matters.'

_No. _

'How many unspeakable things do you have to do to get where you want?' I ask, tears pouring down my face. 'I knew that you would kill me in the end, I always knew it. But you didn't have to…to…'

I choke on my own sobs and my head falls forward, weighed down by grief. But he won't leave me alone, he just won't. He hooks his fingers under my chin, forcing me to face him.

'Try not to be such a child,' he says cruelly. 'What I did was necessary to our cause. You have no idea what the death of your parents has achieved. The Weasleys have told us that it has jolted Potter into finally seeing sense. He has agreed to meet us at their house tomorrow, to turn himself in so that you will not be harmed. Your parents' death has bought you your life, Mudblood, can't you see?'

'I DON'T _CARE!_' I wrench my hands from his grip and I slap him once again across the face. 'Don't you understand, I'm not like _you!_ I'd rather die in the most horrible, unimaginable way than let them be hurt! I begged you, I begged you on my _knees _to let them live-'

He grabs me by the shoulders and slams me painfully back into the wall behind me.

'I had no _choice!__'_ he hisses at me. 'Why won't you understand that?'

'Because I can't understand! Why didn't you just refuse, _why_?' I'm screaming now, screaming in misery. 'You didn't have to kill them, you _didn't!_ I hate you, I HATE YOU! I hope you die, you evil, evil _coward-_'

He pins his hand to my throat, his face white and furious. 'Don't._ Ever_. Call me a _coward_.'

His eyes are deep, chocked full of things I don't want to know. The things he's seen with those eyes I never, ever want to see.

I feel like my world has ended. There's nothing, nothing at all left for me. All I can hope for is to die.

Or to see _him _die.

His hand loosens from my throat.

'It was not I that ordered their deaths,' he says quietly. 'Yes, I killed them, but I would not have had them killed, had I held sway over the situation.'

I don't know what to think, I don't know what to _think._

'You expect me to believe that?' I whisper.

His face is unreadable. Not because it's blank, but because it's so full of emotions I'll never understand. 'I have never lied to you, Mudblood.' His voice is quiet. Intense. 'You know what I am; you've known that since I first captured you. Not once have I lied to you. I killed your parents, but I did not order their deaths. You have to believe that.'

I give a tiny strangled hysterical laugh combed through with a sob.

'So I'm supposed to be grateful because although you were their executioner you didn't sign their death warrant?' I shake my head, tears coming from my eyes as I sink down to my knees, lost in despair. I'll never feel happiness again. 'Go away, Lucius. Just leave me alone.'

But he won't. He just won't let me be. He flicks his wand at the ground, and a glass bottle of copper liquid appears on the cold stone floor with a small tumbler next to it. He crouches down in front of me and pours the liquid out into the tumbler. He hands it to me, his cold grey eyes meeting mine over the rim of the glass.

'Drink this.'

I feel every nerve inside of me snap. I snatch the tumbler out of his hand and I throw it across the room. It smashes on the stone floor, the glass spreading out in shards, broken like my soul.

'Fuck you,' I whisper.

He looks at me long and hard. I feel that invisible hand rooting around my mind again, but I just don't care. There are things he'll see in my mind that he'll never understand, never comprehend. How could someone like him understand how I feel? How could someone like him ever comprehend how much I love them, and how this is going to hurt me every hour of every day for the rest of my life, and that the pain of losing them will never, ever leave me?

He takes a deep breath.

'I did what I had to do,' he says quietly. 'Perhaps one day you'll understand.'

And then I start to talk. The situation all suddenly makes sense to me and I start to talk.

'But is that the only reason you've done this?' I ask listlessly. 'You had to obey Voldemort's orders, yes. But you also wanted to punish me, didn't you? You wanted to punish me for breaking down yet another barrier. I saw too much in that Penseive, and you've succeeded in punishing me in the most horrible, unimaginable way for getting too close.'

His face sets itself hard and he raises his wand.

'Go ahead then,' I mutter, beyond caring. 'Whatever you do can't be worse than what you've already done. Just you try punishing me again, and see if you can live with yourself after what you've done today.'

He reaches round the back of my neck and yanks my head back by the hair. He brings his face close to mine, whispering in my ear as he places his wand against my exposed throat.

'Don't tempt me, Mudblood.'

'Oh yes, that's right,' I whisper. 'Go on; hurt me to keep me away. But believe me, you don't have to put yourself to such bother. I'd rather die than allow myself to get close to you ever again.'

His grip pulls my hair taut and his wand plants itself into my throat. I can see his face above mine, struggling with emotion.

He gives a snarl of fury as he looks down at me, and he lets go of my hair, standing up and picking me up in his arms. I don't struggle against it because I don't care, I just don't care anymore. Nothing matters.

Nothing.

He lays me down on my bed, sitting down on the mattress next to me. He summons the bottle of copper liquid over to us and conjures up another tumbler, filling it once again.

'Drink it,' he says, holding it out to me. 'It's a sleeping potion.'

I shake my head. 'I don't want it. I don't want anything from you.'

He looks at me intently.

'Yes you do,' he says quietly. 'You want to go to sleep. You want to forget what's happened, even if it's just for a few hours. Drink this, it will help you.'

I look at him mutinously for a few seconds, before I wearily take the goblet from him. I neck the potion before I sink back onto the pillows, hoping for nothing more than to die in my sleep.

* * *

My eyes peel themselves open slowly, heavily. For long moments I'm warm, contented, but it doesn't take long for me to remember.

My nose burns and I close my eyes again.

_Oh God, why couldn't you let me die? Why did you let me wake up again?_

I'm not alone. I can hear light breathing, and strong fingers entwined around my own.

I open my eyes. Lucius sits on the edge of the bed, watching me. His hand is wrapped in mine, tangling our fingers together.

I keep my eyes on his. I feel like I should cry, but although I can feel my nose stinging with tears, but they just won't fall. They've all run out of me. I feel like an empty bottle.

'How did it happen?' I ask listlessly. 'Tell me, I want to know. How did…'

My throat closes up and my words are cut off. I swallow. He watches me closely, his mouth set in a thin line.

'How did they die?' I whisper.

He seems to consider for a moment, before he answers me with a still, calm, perfectly controlled voice.

'I arrived at their house at midnight.' His voice shows no emotion at all. 'They were sleeping in their bed. They did not wake as I entered the room. I… they died as they slept. They will have felt nothing.'

It's enough. I don't want to hear any more. I close my eyes to blot his face away. My parents' murderer.

They would have felt nothing. They wouldn't even have known it was happening.

But that doesn't take the agony away. I knew, deep down, that I would never see them again anyway, I knew it. But a small part of me had dared to hope…

Hope has gone. It has abandoned me.

And I'll never see them again!

I gasp out a dry sob.

I'm alone. There's nothing left for me. Everything I've ever known and trusted has been taken away from me. My parents aren't going to save me; a teacher's not going to save me; a book's not going to save me; the Order's not going to save me.

God's not going to save me.

I open my eyes to look at my parents' killer. He looks back at me as if he's never seen me before.

'How could you do it?' I ask, almost simply. 'After everything we've… how could you?'

A muscle goes in his jaw.

'The end justifies the means, Mudblood.'

_The end justifies the means, the means, the means have destroyed me, killed my parents, how can you say that?_

'Oh.' My voice shakes and struggles over my words. 'Look at you. So… calm, so composed. You have the softest voice, but you say the cruellest things.'

He watches me, almost smirking and yet… _not._

'What were you expecting? Compassion? For _you?_' He breathes a tiny laugh. 'You're such a fool.'

'Yes, you're right,' I hiss furiously. 'How could I expect any compassion from _you_? You're an evil man, Lucius Malfoy.'

'And you're a Mudblood, _Miss _Granger,' he says cruelly, 'and I would rather be considered 'evil' than no more than a filthy muggle.'

I close my eyes, letting the tears puddle under my eyelids. He's goading me, but I'm tired of fighting. What's the use? My parents… they're dead. He killed them. 'Filthy muggles', that's what he made me call them, such a long time ago. He probably thought no more of killing them than he would of swatting a fly.

His fingers brush onto my cheek and my eyes flip open. I look up at him, lost in the cold gaze of my parents' murderer. His eyes, full of emotions that maybe even _he _doesn't understand.

_Was it really murder if he was ordered to do it? He probably had no choice…_

Everyone has a choice about everything.

_People don't always have that luxury. Did _you_ have a choice when you gave them the information they tortured out of you? _

'Come on.' He stands up, removing his fingers from my cheek. 'We're running late. They'll be expecting us at the Weasleys' any minute.'

Us? Am I going with him?

No. I'm not going. I don't care, don't care, don't care. At least here I have Ron…

Ron. I'll cling to him now. He's all I have. Harry just wouldn't understand me anymore.

Besides, if Harry had just turned up the other night my parents would still be alive.

'Why should I go with you?' I ask Lucius quietly, snatching my hand away from his. 'Why should I do _anything_ you tell me to do?'

He snarls in anger and grabs me by the arm, wrenching me up to my feet.

'Because you don't want to believe that your parents died in vain,' he hisses, still keeping hold of my arm, bruising it.

'I don't want to believe that they died just so that the entire wizarding world would be lost to _animals_ like you!' I shout back at him, knowing that it's true.

His lips begin to form and answer, but he seems to think better of it and re-arranges them into a sneer.

'Why are we even having this conversation?' he drawls maliciously. 'After all, it's not as if you have a choice in the matter, is it?'

He pulls the small silver key from out of his robes, still gripping onto my arm, and we move through the airless void of transportation into another room, a room almost exactly like mine. I would think we hadn't moved anywhere at all, but then-

'Hermione!'

I spin around to see Ron, the one thing in the world I can still cling on to, his familiar face so full of concern that it almost breaks my heart.

As our eyes meet he walks over to me, reaching me in two swift strides before throwing himself around me. He pulls me up into a fierce hug, and I collapse into his arms, feeling all of my exhaustion and all of my pain wash over me.

'You've got ten minutes,' I hear Lucius say curtly, 'and then I'll be back. If you're not ready to leave when I return then you shall both pay for it.'

_Go. Just… go._

A small popping noise.

Thank god.

Ron pulls my face back to look at me, cradling my head in his hands.

'What happened to you?' he asks, gently touching my forehead. He brings away his fingers, and I see they've got blood on them. That must have been where my skull hit the wall when Lucius threw me back into it, just after I'd offered him _everything_ to try and save them...

I burst into tears. Huge, racking, agonising sobs rock through me as it all comes crashing down around me again. I cry so hard that I can hardly breathe.

'My God, what's wrong?' Ron asks, taking my hands in his. 'Is it Malfoy?' he asks furiously. 'What's he done to you? I'll kill him, I swear-'

'My… my Mum and Dad…' I try to speak, but my words barely make it out through the sobs. 'He… he killed them, Ron! He killed my Mum and Dad!'

I scream with misery then. Mum and Dad. I love them so much, more than I can ever tell them, and I'll never be able to now. It's over. They're just… gone.

_Gone._

It's unendurable.

'What?' Ron's answer drags my head up to look at him, but I can barely see his ashen face through my tears.

I try to gulp down my sobs enough to speak.

'The other night, he… he took me to Voldemort, and he tortured me while Voldemort opened his mind to Harry.' Ron's grip on my hand tightens. 'They told Harry to be at your house the next evening, but he never showed up. And so they… Voldemort ordered him to… to show Harry that they really mean business by… by…'

I can't speak anymore. I just wail and bawl. Ron grips me and wrenches me into a furious hug, and I hold onto him as tightly as I can, as if just by holding onto him I could make the agony go away.

'Are you sure he really did it?' Ron asks tentatively. 'Maybe it's just, I don't know, some kind of mind fuck.'

I shake my head weakly. 'No,' I gasp. 'He's done it. I know him; he wouldn't have gone this far with just a sick mind game.'

Ron swears under his breath and pulls me tighter into his arms. I grip at him, crying furiously into his shoulder as he rubs at my back gently. But it makes no difference. He doesn't know me anymore. He can't understand me now; no-one can ever understand me ever again.

I collapse onto the ground, dragging Ron with me. We stay like this for ages, for what feels like forever, and he rocks me back and forth, back and forth, but the tears keep coming. I want them back, I want them back, but I'll never see them again.

My sobs slow down in the end. They slow down to sighs as Ron holds me. I need them to stop. They can't fill this huge great emptiness that threatens to overwhelm me.

I pull back and I look into Ron's eyes, holding onto his face.

'Ron,' I whisper. Every word is an effort. 'Harry has told them that he'll be at your house this evening to hand himself over to stop them from killing me. They're going to take me with them to the Burrow, to remind Harry of what they'll do if he doesn't turn himself in to them. I'll stop it if I can, I promise. I won't let Harry do it.'

He sets his face firm.

'If you get the chance to escape, then you've got to do it,' he says resolutely. 'This could be the only chance you get – you've got to make use of it.'

'I won't leave you-'

There's a small popping noise behind us again. Too soon, always too soon.

I turn around. Lucius looks at us with a frozen expression on his face, and I realise that he's changed his robes. He's prepared for battle in his Death-Eater's uniform.

Ron's grip on me tightens.

'Get the fuck out of here, Malfoy-'

'Shut up,' Lucius snaps, grabbing me by the arm and wrenching me up towards him. I go along with it, too exhausted to fight back. He pulls Ron's grip away from my arm. 'If you don't let her go without a fuss then I shall force you to watch her suffer for it. I mean it, boy. I don't have time to waste on your histrionics.'

'Why can't you just leave her alone?' Ron shouts at him, his face red with fury. 'Haven't you done enough already? Do you realise just what you've done to her?'

'Tell me, Weasley,' Lucius' voice is tight with suppressed exasperation as he interrupts him, 'why do you always speak to me as if I am interested in what you have to say?'

He pulls the small silver key out of his robes, and I cry out Ron's name, reaching out to him frantically but I can't reach him before we press into a tiny space, smaller and smaller until we emerge out into the main hall.

It's alright. I haven't lost him too. I'll see him again when I get back. At least I've still got Ron.

Bellatrix stands in front of us. She's wearing her Death-Eater's robes, her mask ready in her hand.

'We're ready to go,' she says shortly.

'Good,' Lucius replies coldly. 'Where is he?'

_Who?_

'I'm here.'

Oh no, oh no! Not him, not now, not after everything.

I turn my head to look behind me and there he is. Standing there in a Death-Eater's robe, maskless because of course he doesn't need to hide his identity from me, not now, not after what he did at the end of term.

And for the first time I see him properly. He's changed so much from the boy I first knew when I was eleven years old, and yet I never really registered it as we grew up together. He is no longer the snivelling, pathetic school bully I saw him as for years and years. He seems taller, somehow. Those robes don't swamp him like it seems they should do. They fit him perfectly.

He sneers at me, a smile of pure malicious joy spreading across his features, and I feel Lucius' grip tighten on my arm.

'Hello, Granger,' he drawls. 'I'll bet you didn't expect to see me again, did you?'

Draco Malfoy has finally won at last.


	16. Consequences

''_What do you mean?' said Frodo. 'Surely the Ring was his precious and the only thing he cared for? But if he hated it, why didn't he get rid of it or go away and leave it?'_

'_You ought to begin to understand, Frodo, after all you have heard,' said Gandalf. 'He hated it and loved it, as he hated and loved himself. He could not get rid of it. He had no will left in the matter.'' _– J . R . R . Tolkien, _The Fellowship of the Ring_

* * *

I'm not going to bother struggling anymore.

My wrists are aching, burned and rubbed raw by the rope that ties me to the leg of the armchair.

It's a chair Mr Weasley used to sit in during the summer evenings as he listened to the Wizards' radio.

It's too heavy a chair to shift, and so I've got no option but to stay sitting on the floor, waiting along with all the other Death-Eaters here with me for Harry to arrive.

I think we're here early, before whatever arranged time they gave to him. They don't seem to think he'll be here so very soon. The atmosphere is almost relaxed. They're just standing around, talking to each other quietly, even laughing occasionally.

Laughing.

I can't stand them being here. The Burrow. This happy home that should be full of laughing Weasleys is now full of Death-Eaters, all waiting for Harry to turn up so that they can finally win the war.

To think that things have come to this.

I don't think the Weasleys are here. I haven't seen them. My guess is they've only given up their house for the night, and they don't have to actually stay here to see what's going to happen. God knows, if I were given the choice then wouldn't want to see what might happen.

I'm almost glad that none of the Weasleys are here. I don't know whether I could handle seeing them. It'll just remind me of everything I've lost.

It's night time, and so the only light in the room comes from the Death-Eater's illuminated wands. Perhaps it's just the darkness that makes the place look so miserable, so utterly different from how it was when I last saw it.

I look across the room, the dining room of this house that I spent so many summers in, though I don't have time for memories now.

I look at Lucius as he holds a murmured conversation with some Death-Eater I don't recognise. None of them have put on their masks yet, not that I recognise any of them anyway.

Only Lucius and Bellatrix, who seem to be ignoring each-other.

And Draco's here, of course. He keeps on smirking at me. He's just itching to come over and gloat, I know that, but he's managed to restrain himself so far.

I don't care, anyway. He can do what he likes. After everything that's happened to me I just don't give a damn about Draco Malfoy anymore.

My eyes are stuck on Lucius. I watch the bastard smile. I watch him laugh quietly at something the other Death-Eater says. I watch him as he flicks his eyes over to me.

How can he carry on with his life as if nothing has happened? How can he sit there and _laugh_ after what he's done?

I am never going to laugh again.

How can life go on? How can _anyone_ laugh, or smile, or just… carry on as if nothing has changed? My parents are gone, they'll never come back. How can everyone else's lives go on as normal?

I'm being irrational, I know. I know that the pain will lessen in the end. That's what everyone says whenever someone's lost a loved one – 'It'll get easier with time'.

It doesn't feel like it ever will, though. It feels like I'm surely going to die of this wrenching, churning pain I feel in my gut whenever I come close to thinking about it.

Which is pretty much all the time. It's like a whining cry pounding incessantly in my head. And it hurts, hurts…

_Hurts._

And he just sits there. He sits and talks to his friend, and he doesn't care what he's done.

He's taken _everything._

I hate him.

I keep thinking about my mum and dad's last moments. I keep running over what might have happened in my mind.

Did they know that I loved them? Did I tell them, when I last saw them?

'Finally learned your place in the world, Granger? God knows, it's taken you long enough.'

Draco's finally given into temptation, then.

I didn't even notice him come over.

I look up. He stands over me, smirking down at me with pure malice because he knows that he's won, now. All those years of me beating him in class really don't matter anymore, do they? Not now.

He crouches down next to me, keeping his voice low.

'My father told me you've been your delightful, arrogant self during your captivity.'

I chance a look at his father, who watches us with a tiny frown on his face, just for a second before he turns back to the person he's talking to.

I'll kill him. One day, I will kill him.

I look back at Draco. His pale face is contorted with pure malicious joy.

I just don't want to hear it, don't want to know, don't want to put up with this after everything else.

'Go away, Draco,' I whisper, looking away from him. 'I don't want to talk to you.'

I feel the cold, sleek wood of his wand under my chin, and I slide my eyes back onto his face. He might not be his father, but he's still got a wand, and that amounts to power I could only dream of right now.

'Well _I_ want to talk to _you_, Granger,' he hisses. 'And you have to do as I say now. As _I _say,' he repeats, savouring the words.

I don't bother to answer. I'm not afraid of him, not really. He might have a wand, but his threats just seem so meaningless after everything I've seen, after everything his father's done to me.

'I wanted to come and… _visit_ you ages ago,' he drawls, letting his wand drop from my chin. 'I originally asked the Dark Lord if _I_ could have charge over you; if I could look after you during your imprisonment. It would have been fun, wouldn't it, Mudblood? Just you, me and a wand.'

My mind goes into overdrive for a moment, thinking about what it would have been like if I had been given over to the son rather than the father. Perhaps things would have been easier. Draco's skills in magic, manipulation and cruelty aren't as advanced as his father's, I don't think.

'I could have finally put you in your place,' Draco goes on. 'I could have got back at you for all those years you thought that you were better than me in school.'

I snap then. I feel my last nerve break because does he really think that I _care_ about how well I did at school, after everything that's happened to me?

'Yes, and I bet you've stayed awake night after night fantasising about _that_ little scenario, haven't you?' I whisper violently. 'Well let me tell you, it hasn't been the stuff of _fantasy_ being stuck with your bloody father all this time.' I feel the anger build up in me; the need to hurt. 'Do you know what your father has _done_ to me, Draco?'

He swallows sharply, but he keeps that sneer somewhat shakily in place. It's as if he's afraid of what I might say. Too young, too naïve to know what his father _really _gets up to in his spare time.

'Whatever he's done to you, I'm sure it's no less than you deserve,' he mutters.

'_No less than I deserve_?' I ask incredulously, and my eyes flick over to Lucius, who's watching us, almost completely ignoring the person he's meant to be talking to. Draco's eyes follow mine. 'He imperio'd me into hacking my own leg open with a knife,' I mutter. 'He crucio'd me to the point that I vomited out of sheer agony. He broke my fingers and ground them under his boot when I wouldn't do as he said. Oh, I could tell you things about your precious father-'

'That's enough!'

He grabs me by the scruff of the neck and holds his wand shakily up to my throat.

'Draco.' Lucius' voice comes from the other side of the room, cold and emotionless. I shift my eyes over to see him watching us with a frown on his face, his wand loose in his hand by his side. 'Remember what I told you.'

'Yes, father,' Draco says sullenly, withdrawing his wand from my throat and putting it back into his robes before letting go of me.

Lucius locks his gaze onto mine for a few seconds before he turns back to his conversation with his colleague.

'He killed my parents, Draco,' I say quietly, not looking away from Lucius. 'Your father killed mine, and my mother. Do you still wish that you'd been given charge of me? That duty would have fallen to you, if you had been. Will you fantasise about being the one to destroy my life, to take away the two people I loved most in the world?'

I turn back to Draco. His face goes very white, but he still manages to keep that sneer in place.

'Why should I care about that?' His voice shakes slightly as he speaks. 'They were only _muggles_.'

I actually choke on my own rage. I start to stutter with hatred. I knew he was an arrogant, spoiled, selfish little bastard, but I never knew he was so cruel as to… as to…

'You-'

I try to lunge at him, but I jolt as the ropes are stretched tight. I can't move for the weight of the chair.

Draco laughs, standing up again and sneering down at me, just like his father does and yet somehow… so very _unlike_ his father.

'When will you ever learn, you stupid cow?' he asks. 'You can't fight against _me_ – you never could! Stupid Gryffindors think they can fight against anything just as long as they're _brave _enough! What use is your bravery now, Granger? What use is _bravery _without a wand?'

It's funny how you can grow up with someone and not notice them changing. I look at Draco now and I see him properly for the first time in six years. He's not quite grown up yet, but he's nearly there. I can see both the sneering playground bully he was, but I can also see what he'll become – his father. I can see his father in the sneer, the coldness, the eyes full of cruelty.

'It's nearly midnight.' Lucius' curt voice comes from the other side of the room, cutting off all the muted chatter amongst the other Death-Eaters. I watch him stride across the room to me and Draco. 'He'll be here soon. Get into position.'

They all do as he says, arranging themselves around the room. Lucius comes over to me and Draco. He flicks his wand at the ropes tying me to the chair and they dissolve into thin air. I barely have a chance to massage at my sore wrists before he grips me by the arm, wrenching me to my feet.

'Shouldn't you keep her tied up?' Draco asks, looking at me almost apprehensively. 'She might get away-'

'Oh, I don't think Miss Granger will be going anywhere,' Lucius drawls horribly. 'I think she knows what the consequences of her actions will be if she _does_ make an ill-conceived escape attempt. I have taught her all she ever needs to know about obedience during our _time_ together.'

_Bastard, bastard, I hate you, you BASTARD!_

Draco looks at the pair of us, his gaze flickering between me and his father, and for a second a small frown creases his brow.

He looks at me quizzically.

_I'm no liar, Draco. Think about what I've said._

Whether he can perform Legimilency like his father can or not, I don't know. I'm guessing not, because his frown disappears almost immediately to be replaced by a malicious little grin.

'Enjoy the show, Granger,' he mutters. 'I can't wait to see the look on Potter's face when he sees you-'

'Remember what I told you, Draco,' Lucius says quietly. 'There is to be no acting up just because it's Potter. We have a job to do.'

'I understand that,' Draco smiles at me horribly. 'But I'll want some… _compensation_ when this is over, father. If I can't have a go at Potter, then I at least want to be able to spend some _quality_ _time _with the Mudblood. You should hear the things she's been saying-'

'I don't need to hear it, Draco,' Lucius snaps, before he remembers himself and smiles at his son, and at me. 'But then, I suppose it could do no harm.' He considers for a moment, and then he makes up his mind. 'Yes, when tonight is over you may renew your acquaintance with Miss Granger. I daresay the pair of you have _missed _each other these past few months.'

Draco smiles at me along with his father. The Malfoy smile – a pair of pleasant snakes.

It takes all of my power to stop me from shaking with fury.

'My parents aren't even cold,' I say quietly, and I don't know which specific Malfoy I'm really talking to at that moment. 'Isn't that enough for you?'

'Shut up!' Lucius twists his hand on my arm, pulling a gasp from my mouth before he turns back to his son. 'Take your place.'

He wrenches me forwards towards the door that leads out to the Burrow's garden. I feel his wand dig into my back, pressing hard into my ribs.

'I don't think I need to remind you of what the consequences will be should you decide to try and run away,' he whispers into my ear. 'Don't make me hurt you anymore than I already have done.'

For god's sake. Does he really expect me to believe that he doesn't enjoy hurting me, not even a little bit?

We're all in position, like some horrible tableau. Me and Lucius up in front, the Death-Eaters surrounding us in a masked crowd.

And we wait. We all wait, perfectly still in the darkness, with only the light of a few illuminated wands to provide any relief for our eyes.

God knows how long we wait, in horrible silent darkness. Lucius' fingers bite into my arm, and I feel his breathing on the back of my neck. Far too close. As always.

My heart is pounding so hard my chest is going to burst any minute.

Maybe Harry's not coming…

But of course he _does_ come. I was stupid to hope for otherwise, wasn't I?

The door creaks open, and a wonderfully familiar figure stands shadowed in the doorway, his wand lit up with a lumos spell.

And for the first time since my capture I see Harry's face. The untidy hair, the glasses, the bright green eyes, the scar. His face is set in determination as he enters the house, and the Death-Eaters all automatically raise their wands at him.

'Lower your wands and I will co-operate with you,' he says, his voice almost calm and yet… not. If I didn't know him as well as I do I would say that he's calm.

It's so _good _to hear his voice again!

The Death-Eaters look to Lucius for orders. I turn my face up to watch his reaction. He surveys Harry down his nose haughtily before making a lowering gesture with his hand.

'Those won't be necessary,' he says quietly. 'I think Potter knows that he has no choice but to comply with our wishes.' He places his hands on my shoulders in a definite gesture of ownership. 'He knows what will happen if he does not.'

Harry's eyes flicker down to meet mine, and only then does he lose his composure. His face blanches, visible even by the wand-light.

He tries a tiny smile of reassurance, but there's no happiness in it, of course there isn't. He's about to walk to his death, he's not going to be happy…

I'm not going to let him do this. I'm not going to let these bastards _win_!

'Go, Harry!' I shout, struggling against Lucius, who quick as a flash snakes his arm around my waist, holding me firmly in place. 'Run! Don't hand yourself over! It doesn't matter, they'll kill me anyway-'

Lucius' wand stabs into my throat, cutting off my yells with fear.

'Be quiet.' His harsh whisper is hot on my cheek. 'Don't make this any more difficult than it has to be. If you want to see just how easily I could kill you then you just try to take one more step-'

'Let go of her, Malfoy!' Harry yells, pointing his wand at Lucius, his face furious.

Lucius' head snaps up to face Harry, and he removes his wand very slowly from my throat. He shifts his arm from my waist and grips at my arm instead.

And I can breathe again.

'Let's not allow ourselves to descend into childish bickering,' Lucius drawls. 'We're all adults now, Potter, and so I'm going to make this nice and clear for you.'

He pauses for effect, and it works, of course. Harry's knuckles whiten as he grips his wand tighter.

'The Dark Lord showed you what this foul specimen has been going through because of you,' Lucius drawls pitilessly. 'You saw her suffering horrifically because of her friendship with you. You were given the opportunity to rescue her, to stop her suffering, but you turned it down.'

'No,' Harry says, desperation in his voice as he looks at me, ashen faced, his wand shaking in his hand. 'Hermione, you don't understand, I couldn't. The Order-'

'And what did that little act of defiance cost, that's what you have to ask yourself, Potter.' Lucius completely ignores Harry's desperate attempt at an explanation. 'Do you know exactly what your hesitation has cost your little Mudblood friend?'

No. Don't bring that up. The pain of it still stabs me like a thousand knives all over my body.

Even in the darkness, I can see all of the colour ebb away from Harry's face.

'Hermione.' He just sputters and spits, desperately trying to get his words out. 'I couldn't… I didn't know that they would really…'

'I know.' I don't know what else to say.

'But I have to say thank you, Potter.' Lucius carries on as if neither of us has spoken. 'Thank you for _finally_ seeing sense. You have made the entire task so much easier for all of us. Now, if you'll just give Bellatrix your hand, then we will remove the anti-apparation jinxes and she can apparate you to the Dark Lord. We shall finish this, once and for all.'

Harry nods, his face setting itself in grim determination.

'If you want me to play along with you, then you'll have to give me something in return,' he says, his voice firm.

'_Expelliar-_'

'_Protego!_'

Harry keeps his grip on his wand, deflecting Bellatrix' spell. She stands next to Lucius, shaking with fury.

'Don't play games with us, you-'

'Calm down, Bella,' Lucius mutters. She turns to him, her mouth open as if she's going to start shouting at him too, but he silences with her an imperious raise of his hand.

Harry's gaze flickers to and from me and Lucius.

'You want me to let you apparate with me,' Harry says quietly, resolutely. 'You need my permission to do it, I know that. So I'll make a deal with you. I'll let you take me,' – he pauses for a moment, looking at me – 'but in return I want you to set Hermione free.'

Lucius' fingers bite down into my arm and the Death-Eaters all start to chuckle.

'You're hardly in a position to negotiate, Potter!' Draco laughs, stepping forward out of the shadows. 'It's fifteen to one. Or are you such a _powerful _wizard that you think you can take all of us on?'

I hear Lucius' irritated intake of breath near my ear as Harry's face sets itself into pure hatred as he comes face to face with his old rival.

'So, they've got _you_ on board, have they?' he says, his voice mocking and furious. 'They must really be desperate. Do they know just how miserably you failed in your Death-Eater's duties last year? Do they have a death wish, letting someone as useless as _you_ fight alongside them?'

Draco raises his wand furiously, but Lucius reaches out and grabs him by the wrist.

'Not now.'

'But father, didn't you hear what he-?'

'Of course I did!' Lucius snaps. 'But right now we have important plans to carry out. This is not the playground of Hogwarts – remember that.'

Draco looks for a second as if he's going to answer back, but Bellatrix places a hand on his arm and draws him back into the shadows, shooting Lucius a resentful look as she does so. Draco consoles himself by fixing Harry with the look of deepest loathing as he goes with her.

'I know that I couldn't win in a fight against all of you,' Harry says quietly, and I know how hard it must be for him to admit to his enemies that he can't win against them. 'You'll get me to Voldemort one way or another. I'm just giving you the option to do it the easy way. Let Hermione go, and I'll let you apparate with me.'

There's a long, tense silence while his offer is considered.

I hardly dare to breathe. If they let me go then I'll be free.

_Free._

But if they let me go, then Ron will be left on his own, Harry will die, I'll have no-where to go anyway, and… and…

'Oh, let her go.' A deep voice I don't recognise comes from the left of me somewhere. 'It'll get the whole business done a lot quicker, won't it?'

Lucius' grip tightens on my arm, his fingernails almost tearing through my robe and into my skin.

'Impossible,' he says swiftly and coldly. 'She's far too important a prisoner to let loose.'

'But father,' Draco pipes up from behind us, 'I thought that as soon as you got hold of Potter then you intended to dispose of her. Why do you need to keep her if you're going to kill her anyway?'

'Indeed, Draco,' Bellatrix says as she comes to stand next to us once again, her eyes glittering with triumph. 'That _is_ the question, isn't it?'

'You do realise, Potter,' Lucius hisses menacingly at Harry, ignoring Bellatrix and Draco, 'that we could very easily stun you and carry you back to headquarters without your co-operation.'

'What, and drag a stunned body halfway across the country?' Harry counters triumphantly. 'That's just asking to be caught by the Aurors, isn't it?'

I just stand stock still, feeling Lucius' fingers dig deeper into my arm.

I'm so close to freedom, freedom I'm not even sure I want anymore. I have no parents to go to, Harry will die and the war will be lost, and Ron… I can't leave Ron there all on his own.

Harry reaches out to me, snatching up my hand and gripping hard at my fingers, staring at Lucius without any understanding. Because he can't understand. No-one can understand the pair of us. Not even Lucius and I…

'Just hand her over,' Harry says slowly. 'Hand her over, and I'll let you apparate with me.'

His fingers grip around mine as Lucius' tense on my other arm.

I look up at Lucius, at his pale, pointed face, and I feel a small kick, deep down in my stomach, as I look into his eyes. There's something there in those cold grey eyes, something that I had to learn long and hard to see.

This is it. This will probably be the last time I'll ever see him.

_So why do you care? Let go! The sooner you get away from him the better._

But… I can't.

_Let go let go let go._

I can't let go. I can't move from his gaze. It keeps me rooted to the spot. Lucius Malfoy. Cold, unfeeling, pitiless, evil. Lucius Malfoy. My parents' murderer; the one person I hate more than anyone else in the world. Lucius Malfoy. My constant companion. Lucius Malfoy. The centre of my world.

_LET GO!_

'Father, what are you doing?' My gaze snaps to Draco, who's moved up to stand next to us, watching us.

The _whole room's_ watching us.

It's enough. Lucius drops my arm as if he's been burned.

'Ha!' Bellatrix lets out a tiny triumphant laugh as Lucius turns his face from me.

I'm free. I'm free once more. I'll never, ever have to face that evil heartless bastard again…

So why does freedom hurt?

There's a long tense silence before Lucius turns to face us again, his expression blank, devoid of emotion, his eyes refusing to meet mine.

'Potter-'

'NOW!'

That shouted command, I realise a second later, came from Harry but I don't have time to wonder what it's all about because the next second a huge blast comes from the doorway, tearing through the room. I feel myself being thrown with the force of it, everything in the room is thrown with the force of it.

I go flying and I land _smack_ on the floor, my head pounding and my ears ringing from the shattering noise of the explosion.

I stir from the ground. I'm… I'm not hurt, I don't think. Bruised, perhaps, but nothing worse.

What the hell was that?

I chance a look around. I can't see much for smoke, but there's no rubble, only Death-Eaters lying dazed on the ground. I think it was only the door that went, but I can't _see_…

I feel a long, thin, cold object being pressed into my fingers.

'Here's a wand, Hermione,' Harry whispers into my ear. 'It's not one you're used to, but it'll have to do for now. It's all going to kick off. Get yourself out of here.'

A wand. A _wand_?

'What's happening?' I ask dazedly.

'The Order,' he says shortly as he pulls me roughly up to my feet. 'I brought them with me under invisibility cloaks. They waited outside until I got you away from the Death-Eaters' wands. But I'll explain it all properly later. Right now, you've got to go.' He pulls me into a swift, fierce hug before letting go of me again. 'Get yourself out of here and apparate to Hogsmeade. McGonagall is waiting for you in the Three Broomsticks. She'll get you to somewhere safe.'

'What about Ron?' I gasp out, hearing people groaning and starting to move around me.

'We'll rescue him,' he says with complete certainty. 'We'll win this battle and we'll make them take us to him, I promise, but you've got to get yourself out of here _now!_'

A stunning spell rushes passed my ear, whipping my hair up, and Harry grabs me by the shoulder, pulling me down to crouch with him.

'Hermione,' he says shakily. 'About your parents… I'm so sorry-'

'Don't be,' I reply quickly. 'It wasn't _you_ who killed them.'

The floor pounds and shakes with frantic footsteps and curses start to fly around the room, the air filling with the shouts of duelling Aurors and Death-Eaters.

Harry pulls me to my feet once again and pushes me away.

'_Go!_'

This is it.

I turn and I run as fast as I can as Harry engages in battle with a Death-Eater. I stumble through moving bodies and curses and hexes, somehow miraculously avoiding them all by ducking and diving. My lungs fill with smoke and I cough so hard my eyes water, but I don't stop running…

Something grips at my ankle and I fall, my knees banging painfully on the floor. Without even looking behind me I shoot a hex at whoever's got me. The grip relaxes and I crawl along the ground, clawing myself through the storming feet. A booted foot lands on my fingers for a second, another kicks me out of the way mercilessly, but I don't stop. I cling onto my new wand for all I'm worth. I have to get out, I have to…

I reach the open door and I pull myself through it, out into the open fields. I can't see far through the darkness, but that doesn't matter. I stumble to my feet, out in the open air, hearing the bangs, the yells, the curses behind me. If I can just get a bit further, away from the anti-apparation jinxes, then…

'_Impedimenta!_'

I'm lifted up and thrown forwards and I land sprawled on the ground, fireworks bursting behind my eyelids and my teeth banging together as my head hits the rock hard earth.

I groan, clutching my fingers around the wand as I try to push my broken body up from the ground.

A foot lands on my back, pushing me back down into the dirt and a hand tangles itself in my hair, almost ripping it from my head as he draws it up to hear his words.

'I don't think so, Mudblood.'

That voice…

It's him.

_Of course it's him!_

He crouches over me, his whisper harsh in my ear.

'You will _not _get away from me,' he hisses. 'I'm _damned_ if I'm going to give you up. I'll never let you go, do you understand me?'

He's gone mad.

Or perhaps not-

I wrench my hand up behind me, my wand hand.

'_Impedimenta!_'

He leaves my side and I roll onto my back to see him fly backwards, back and back, landing sprawled on the ground a few feet away from me.

We both pull ourselves to our feet, brandishing our wands like weapons, circling each other. His eyes flicker down, and his face dawns with understanding.

'So,' he says eventually. 'You've got yourself a wand. But you forget, muggles have no right to _wands_.' He breathes out a laugh and holds his hand out to me. 'Hand it over. Just give it to me, and I'll take you home.'

Home? The arrogant bastard!

'_Home _was where my parents lived, Lucius!' I keep my wand firmly in my hand, which shakes in fury. '_Home_ will never, ever be that _place_ where you keep me. Never. I have no home, you saw to that, didn't you? _Stupe-_'

'_Protego!_'

The curse rebounds away from him, shooting off into the night.

He's laughing at me.

'Come, come, Hermione, surely a _witch _of your calibre should be able to do better than that?'

Hermione?

The word knocks all the air out of me.

He realises what he's done, realises as soon as he's said it. His face blanches and contorts with rage.

But there's nothing he can do to change it now. No longer Mudblood, or muggle, not even Miss Granger but _Hermione_.

Ha!

He raises his wand as he takes in my expression.

'_Stupefy!_'

But I duck and I roll, roll away from him and I start to run before I feel an invisible hook pull me back, back towards him…

I land on my feet, thank god. He makes a grab for my neck but I wrench round to face him. He won't win again, he won't hurt me anymore, he won't he won't he _won't_!

'_Crucio_!'

He's knocked back, yells out in pain as he's thrown off his feet…

But he doesn't continue to scream. He just lies there, taking a few deep breaths.

I can't have done it properly. I must have got the hand motion wrong, or something.

_You should be glad it didn't work. It's an unforgivable, remember?_

So what? Doesn't he deserve to suffer like I have?

_Yeah. You bet he bloody does!_

His wand. It's fallen from his hand. It's there, on the grass…

He sits up, his breathing harsh, and he sees it, sees it just as I do.

I don't have time to think about it. I lunge on the wand, and he does exactly the same thing. He manages to grab hold of it and I don't even think about what I'm doing… I've got _this _wand, and I'm damned if I'm not going to use it.

I grip him by the wrist and I shoot a burning hex at his hand. He sucks in his breath and I do it again, and again, and again, leaving smouldering red strips across his hand, again and again until his fingers loosen and I wrench the wand out of his grip, standing up and looking down at him crouched by my feet.

By _my _feet.

Oh, and there's fear in his eyes now, isn't there just?

'Burning Hexes, Mudblood?'

I glare at him. So it's _Mudblood _now, is it?

'That's Dark Magic, isn't it?' he goes on. 'I thought that was a branch of magic too low for _you_-'

I snap and throw my wand out at him again, shooting another hex at him. I don't know where it hits, but he hisses in pain.

'You took me this low, and you can suffer the consequences!' I shout at him.

He moves himself up onto his knees, laughing at me.

'You're so eager to justify your actions,' he drawls. 'You can twist anything to suit your purpose, can't you? What a fine Death-Eater you would have made, if only your blood had been pure-'

'But it isn't is it?' I shout as I move closer to him, both wands pointed at his face. 'You should know, you bastard, you killed my _muggle _parents!'

'No, my dear Mudblood, you're quite mistaken - _you_ killed them!' He laughs with pure malice. 'You killed them by parading yourself as a witch. They would be alive now, if you hadn't had the audacity to enter _our _world, leaving your own behind!'

I feel such rage and such anger as I have never known flying through me, pounding through my veins like electricity. Without thinking about what I'm doing I raise my wand…

'_Crucio!_'

And he screams then. He writhes on the ground, howling in agony, and almost immediately I lift the curse, horrified by what I've done.

Oh god oh god oh god, how could I have done that? It's evil, it's brutal, it's…

It's just like _him._

He remains still on the ground for a moment, breathing hard as if he's been running before he staggers up onto his knees again, looking at me with the deepest loathing but I'm not scared of him. I've got the power now, _me!_

'How does it feel?' I ask, shaken by the depths of my hatred. 'How does it feel to be treated like _shit _just for being alive?'

At first he doesn't react, and just for a second his hand moves to his boot, and I'm not sure, but I could swear I saw… something.

His face thaws to laughter as he stands up, distracting me, looking down at me with challenge and almost no fear at all.

'So kill me, then,' he mutters. 'Kill me, my little Mudblood. You said once that your one consolation was the thought of my death. Why don't you kill me now, and end it all tonight?'

I freeze.

This is it. This is the moment I've been dreaming of ever since he ground my broken fingers under his shoe.

He smiles at me, smiles in the face of death at I point my wand into his face.

Perhaps he's not such a coward, after all.

I can do it; I've seen it done before. I know the incantation, the wrist movement, and god knows I want it to happen enough for there to be enough power behind the spell.

He killed my parents, and now I'll avenge them. The world will be a better place when he's gone.

It's not murder. It's justice.

So what am I waiting for?

He smiles at me, and then he moves very suddenly. I see a glint of silver and I don't have time to move before-

Pain slams into my shoulder in white hot agony. I look at the source of it to see a knife planted in my shoulder. His hand is clasped around the handle, his fingers bathed in my blood as the wound spills crimson around the blade. My blood, my _filthy_ blood, flowing all over his hand.

I cry out in sheer agony and shock because it hurts, it hurts so much, and I can _feel _it in me, oh my god, how did that happen? _When _did it happen?

His boot. What I saw near his boot…

_Stupid, stupid, stupid, Hermione!_

I look up at him desperately, frozen with agony. He stares down at me with perfect control, his lips twitching into a smile.

'An eye for an eye,' he mutters. 'Isn't that the muggle saying? After all, I have an almost identical scar in almost the exact same place on _my _shoulder. It's a scar that _you _created, don't you remember?'

I shake with the pain, frozen by it. My fingers seize up as I grip desperately onto the front of his robes, my lips forming words that I don't even know the meaning of.

He rips the knife from my shoulder and I fall to my knees. Everything gives way and my fingers loosen…

I drop the two wands to the floor.


	17. Unimaginable

_'How blessed are some people, whose lives have no fears, no dreads, to whom sleep is a blessing that comes nightly, and brings nothing but sweet dreams.' - _Bram Stoker, _Dracula_

* * *

He reaches down and closes his fingers around the two wands, and in one swift movement he's got all the power in the world back under his grasp.

And I don't care. How can I care when I can barely breathe for agony?

I press my fingers to the open, gaping wound on my shoulder in the vain hope that I might stop the blood from coming, that it might save my life, that it might take the pain away.

Whoever knew blood was so hot? That's another thing I've learned, thanks to him.

He doesn't move.

Doesn't speak.

How could he? How _could _he, after everything else that's happened?

_Self defence. You were about to kill him._

But… I wasn't. I couldn't do it.

And he knows that I couldn't. He _knows_.

I look up at him, my entire body rigid with pain. Tears just won't come for the force of it. I press my lips together, breathing harshly through my nose and he sneers down at me, a malicious smile playing about his lips. Not caring, not feeling, not feeling anything human at all.

'So,' he says triumphantly, 'tell me, Mudblood, _now _do you want me to take you home?'

It's like a punch in the stomach. He's still trying to win over me. He wants me to admit it – wants me to admit that I depend on him.

And I do, at this moment anyway, don't I?

'You… you evil…'

Words won't come. They clog in my throat. I groan and double over, choking on the words. He stands perfectly still, enjoying this moment, no doubt.

Without looking up at him, I work up my strength to speak. 'Please, just… help, _please_…'

He wrenches me up to my feet before lifting me up by the waist and throwing me over his shoulder like some prize of war.

'Hold on to me,' he mutters. 'If you don't want to lose more blood through splinching, then hold on to me for all you're worth.'

I grip onto the back of his robes without even thinking. I don't care where we're going; I just need the pain in my shoulder to stop.

The shouts, the screams and the bangs of the battle fall away as we press into the dark, squashed, airless void of apparition, and I cling on to his robes for all I'm worth…

We emerge into beautiful, fresh, clean air. The silence, compared to the noise and confusion we've just left behind, almost deafens me. It's so quiet, so calm, so still. All there is now is me and Lucius, and all I can hear is our own breathing.

He hauls me off his shoulder and lays me on the ground. The long cool grass tickles my bare feet, my hands, my face. The clean, pure smell of it almost brings tears to my eyes. Why can't everything, the entire world, be so unpolluted, so innocent?

I look up at him blankly as he leans over me, watching me. Black spots appear in my line of vision, floating across his face.

He draws something out of his robes and he puts it down on the ground next to me, gently turning my head to the side to look at it.

It takes me a few seconds to register what it is. Shorter than my own, and made of a darker wood. I never looked at it until this moment. I was too busy trying to get away.

'You will never use magic again,' he says quietly. 'You will never again presume that you have a right to it. One day, when your shoulder has healed, I shall punish you for what you did. I shall punish you for using curses against me that you have no right to in the first place.'

His booted foot comes crushing down on the wand, snapping it clean in half, and only then do tears roll out of my eyes. My one moment of power has gone. It'll never, ever come back. It's over. Finished.

I look beyond the broken wand to see the lake that leads to the Black's house.

His boot tucks itself under my cheek and rolls my head up to face him. The indignity of it doesn't even register with me. His face, contorted with fierce triumph, blots everything else out.

'Never again,' he drawls. 'Magic is lost to you. A distant memory, nothing more.'

His face swims in front of me, the world sinks away, and I'm floating into darkness.

* * *

Pain shivers down my arm, up and down in horrible waves, pulsing down from my shoulder.

There's pressure there, making it hurt so badly I feel like I'm going to vomit…

My eyes ease themselves open.

It all comes slowly into focus. There's a ceiling, a stone ceiling lit up with a dark golden glow…

I recognise the ceiling.

'Try and stay awake if you can.' A voice, _his _voice_. _'It will make things a lot simpler if I have your co-operation.'

I roll my head over to look at him, but he doesn't meet my gaze. He's tending to my shoulder by the light of a single candle lit up on my bedside table.

My bedside table. My bedroom. My bedroom in my _home, _because I don't suppose I have anywhere else I could call home now, do I? This prison – this tomb - is my only home now.

His breathing flutters gently on my bare shoulder.

My _bare_ shoulder…

I flick my gaze to it in fear, but it's only my shoulder that's bare. He's moved my robe down slightly so that he can fix my shoulder up.

He lifts up my arm, wrapping a piece of linen under my shoulder, then over, round and round again.

The blood's all gone. Disappeared like it was never there.

I wonder if he can erase the blood from his _memory_ quite so completely. Because god knows, I won't be able to. I can still see the bright crimson of it, smell the iron bitter-sweetness of it.

Can he always clean up so effectively after his crimes? Don't they sit in his mind, festering and rotting there until they drive him mad?

He flicks his eyes up to meet mine for a second, and I know that I'm hoping for things that aren't there. He probably doesn't even know what the word 'remorse' means.

'Knife wounds this deep take a few hours to heal,' he says, telling me things that I already know but I never really thought I'd have to deal with. 'They can't be healed with a simple spell. I have bandaged it up to the best of my ability, but you'll need to take this potion in order for the wound to heal overnight.'

He hands me a small tumbler of dark blue liquid that he must have poured out before I came to. From the look of it, it might be a healing potion combined with a blood-replenishing potion, but I'm not sure…

It doesn't matter anyway. What does my _knowledge _matter now? All that matters in this place is getting through each day.

'Drink it,' he says curtly.

I sit up, wincing at the pain in my shoulder. I could scream at it. Oh – _oh-_

I will _not _show him how much it hurts.

Did it hurt _him_ this much when I stabbed him?

_Who cares! He deserved it. What does it matter whether it hurt him or not?_

It _matters_ – I don't want to have caused someone this much pain…

No. He's not a _someone_. I've got to remember what he's done to me.

I drink the potion, and a not-unpleasant heat spreads to my shoulder. It dulls the pain, but it doesn't take it away.

I sigh with relief and sit back onto my pillows, closing my eyes for a second. So tired, oh so tired. Could sleep forever…

No. Not with him here.

I drag my eyelids up.

He's looking at me… strangely. It's as if I've asked him a question he doesn't know the answer to.

Our eye contact is shattered when he sucks in his breath quickly, and he grips at his wrist, his face creasing into a grimace.

Thoughts form themselves in my mind for the first time since the Aurors entered the Burrow. His Dark Mark is burning. Voldemort is calling him.

And for the first time, I wonder why… why he did what he did back there.

I need to know. I need it explained to me.

'What are you going to tell him when he asks…?'

I trail off as he looks up at me, his face darkening with fury and, if I'm not mistaken, fear.

'When he asks _what_, exactly?'

I know that I shouldn't push it, but I need to know.

'You went to the Burrow to capture Harry,' I whisper. 'You were in charge of the operation, weren't you? You must have been, otherwise why were they all doing as you ordered?'

His face is clouding over yet further, but he doesn't say anything to stop me.

'But when the Order moved in you didn't choose to go after Harry, the person you were sent to capture in the first place. Instead you went after an insignificant, _Mudblood_ prisoner. How are you going to explain that to him? What are you going to-'

He grips me by the neck, slamming my head back painfully against the headboard of my bed.

'Don't presume to question my behaviour!' he hisses.

He holds my throat in his hand, pinching cruelly at it, loathing etched all over his face, and just as I begin to gag for air he stands up, wrenching his hand away from me. I gasp and rub at my neck, getting my breath back.

'My actions were the right ones,' he says quietly, and I'm not sure whether he's talking to me or to himself. 'With luck, the Dark Lord will see that. I couldn't just allow such an important prisoner to escape if there was a chance that Potter might not be captured. Besides, perhaps Potter _was_ taken, after all…'

His words trail off as he walks over to the door. He pulls a tiny hip-flask out of his robes, taking a swig from it without looking at me. I can smell the bitter, heady smell of alcohol from over here.

Steeling his nerve, I'll bet, for what's about to come.

'Go to sleep,' he says shortly, before swinging the door open and banging it shut behind him.

The candle on my bedside table flickers out in the draft created by the door, and I close my eyes, allowing merciful darkness to take me into its hold.

* * *

Sleep drifts away from me, and for long moments I lie in between the worlds of sleep and consciousness, my dreams fading away from me and the dark coldness of reality seeping over me once more.

There's no light in the room. I can't have been asleep for too long, otherwise he'd have come back by now, wouldn't he?

Perhaps I should go back to sleep again. It's not as if I have anything else to do. Besides, I really am exhausted… too exhausted to worry about him coming back...

I turn over onto my front, resting my cheek against the pillow.

I could pull my duvet over me… no. Too hot.

I move my hair away from my neck and trail my arm across the bed, my fingers falling off the edge of the mattress, and I wait until sleep washes over me again.

* * *

I drift into consciousness, licking my paper-dry lips as my eyes ease themselves open.

I never used to have such trouble sleeping before I was captured. Now I'm lucky if I can get a few straight hours sleep, let alone a full night.

Oh.

My eyes widen when I realise what exactly it _is_ that's woken me up this time.

_Oh._

Something traces delicately up and down my back. Up my spine… and down.

A small gasp eases from my lips, barely audible. I shift my eyes, but I can't see anything. Just impenetrable darkness.

There's a slight dip in the mattress by my hips.

I hold my breath and listen for all I'm worth, trying desperately to ignore the shiver that threatens to run through me.

Up… and down.

It's _someone_, I can tell that much. Those are fingers on my back – I can feel that, even through my robes.

I listen again, pressing my ears into the darkness.

All I can hear is breathing; too fast, too heavy.

I swallow. The fingers halt in their path.

I close my eyes quickly and try to regulate my breathing, keeping it soft and steady. If they think I'm asleep, maybe they'll go away.

Who _is_ it, anyway?

_Stupid question, who do you think it is?_

It might not necessarily be him.

_Who else would it be? _

Dolohov, perhaps?

_He's not subtle enough for this. _

Well then… Draco, maybe?

I almost shudder at the thought of it. I don't want the ferret… I don't want the ferret to touch me like _this_.

Besides, if I'm being completely honest, I'm clutching at straws here. It's not Draco. I know that it's not.

'Deception was never your strong point, Mudblood.'

That cold drawl confirms his identity. Too deep and languid to be his son's, and too refined for Dolohov…

I keep my eyes closed tight shut for fear.

What does he want? After everything else, what does he _want_?

Is he back from going to see Voldemort already? How the hell did he manage to explain himself to him?

_What does that matter? That's hardly what's important right now, is it?_

'It's impolite to ignore me, you know.'

He grips at my shoulder, wrenching me round onto my back. I can't bite back the cry of pain as his fingers dig into the raw wound on my shoulder.

He presses his fingers to my lips. 'Be quiet.'

What is he doing? I'm… I'm a _Mudblood_, for god's sake, what is he _doing_?

He trails his fingers down my throat. I'd be surprised if he couldn't feel my pulse; my blood pounding under my skin.

No, this is ridiculous! Why haven't I tried to stop him already? He won't play these games with me anymore, he _won't!_

I wrench my hand up, but he catches it before it reaches him, his fingers biting into my wrist, bruising my skin.

'I don't think so,' he says quietly, firmly. He lifts my arm up above my head and he pins it by my wrist to the headboard behind me. 'You will stay still, do you understand me?'

But why? _Why? What do you want?_

I swallow sharply, saying nothing, but I nod. It's not as if I can do anything else, is it? There's no way out for me, unless he chooses to present me with one.

'Good,' he mutters.

How is it that he can see my reaction?

Oh, yes. The hand of glory. He can see my reaction to his touch, but I can't see his face, his hands, his body. He can see me, I can't see him.

It's not fair!

The whole situation's not fair. After everything, _everything _he's done to me, how can he… how can he…

The most awful thing is that it's not completely surprising to me anymore, not after everything else that's happened. It's almost as if I've been waiting for this, and after everything else he's done to me this should seem pretty tame, but… but…

Bellatrix's words float through my mind.

-_You're too proud to admit that there's one thing in this world you can't have-_

And she's right. He's always had everything, always been able to have _anything_. His money and position have given him everything in the world, and yet the one thing he controls in every way, the one thing he wants all-reaching power over, is the one thing he can't have.

Or _thinks_ he can't have.

His fingertips rest on my throbbing throat.

It seems he's growing sick of the boundaries he's set for himself.

All I can hope is that he won't go too far.

His fingers trail down, down, and further down, leaving a tingling, burning trail in their path.

My heart stops in my chest.

'The Dark Lord couldn't understand why I went after you instead of Potter,' he murmurs. 'No, he didn't understand my behaviour at all. Especially seeing as my colleagues were too inept to capture Potter after we left.'

Harry's free. Oh, thank god.

But…

His fingers trail down and sideways, tracing ever so lightly over my breast. So lightly I can barely feel it through the thin material of my robe.

I bite my lip before I work myself up to speak out. 'Please… don't punish me just because he punished you.'

His fingers bite harder into my wrist on the headboard, and my own gasp cuts off my words.

'Don't talk to me,' he mutters violently. 'Keep quiet unless I tell you to speak.'

I press my lips together. I've got no option but to do so.

_Why? He might not have his wand with him._

Of course he does! And even if he doesn't… he could still beat me up if I don't just…

If I just lie still and give no reaction then perhaps he'll get bored and… leave me alone.

'But in answer to your question; no, I'm not going to _punish _you,' he says quietly. 'I just want to see if you were worth the _trouble_ I've gone to for you.'

His fingers circle and cup my breast, his thumb… oh god, his thumb running oh-so-gently over my nipple.

It feels… weird. Not that it's unpleasant. It would be better if it was.

I swallow sharply. I won't give him the satisfaction of a reaction.

No. For god's sake, he's married, sleeping with his wife's sister, he's got a son my age, and he… he…

'You can't treat me like this!' I whisper.

'But I can, Mudblood,' he says. 'I can do what I like with you, because I own you, do you understand? You are _mine._'

'I'm not yours-'

'No?' His fingers leave my breast, trailing down, skimming over my hip. My breath catches in my throat and my insides all lock together but he just moves his hand further down, coming to rest on my thigh and pushing my robe up higher, higher, until it's up past my knee.

'If you were not mine, then I would have no right to touch you,' he murmurs, hooking his fingers into the curve under my knee. 'But you have no rights. You're a prisoner. You are only alive now thanks to my mercy. And so I can touch you, and I will, because you belong to me. Your mind, your soul… your body. They _all_ belong to me, and that means I can do exactly what I like with them.'

Two words spin through my mind. _Power trip, power trip, power trip._ I hate him. He doesn't care about my feelings at all, only, _only _that he has complete control over someone that he probably doesn't even see as a proper human being anyway.

He grips tighter under my knee and pulls my hips up to meet his in one sharp movement. I gasp, and he breathes a laugh. 'That's right, just a little reaction. It's very rude of you to try and ignore me when I have the good manners to pay you any attention at all.'

Bastard. Bloody bloody bastard, how dare he make it out to be like… like I should be _grateful _for this!

His hand moves up, away from my leg to brush my hair away from my shoulder. It tingles as it floats over my bare neck, leaving it exposed to the cold air. And I know I should hate that as much as anything else, but… there's nothing implicitly threatening in that gesture, is there?

'Now,' he relaxes his grip on my wrist, 'I am going to let go of you. But if you struggle then I shall make you sorry for it. Is this in any way unclear?'

I shake my head, hardly able to breathe. 'No.'

I can _hear _him smirking. 'Good.'

He unpeels his fingers from my wrist, and I bring my arm down from the headboard.

'He punished me, when he learned that I had let Potter go,' he mutters, still leaning over me. 'And so I have to wonder - are you worth the trouble I have gone to for you? After all you are, strictly speaking, less than a human being, really. Why should I have gone to such trouble for you?'

He hooks his fingers into the neckline of my robe, gradually easing it off of my shoulders, inch by painful inch, pulling my arms out of the neckline until it's gathered around my waist, my breasts completely exposed to him in the cold, unforgiving black air.

I wrench my arms round automatically, trying desperately to keep myself shielded, but he just breathes a small laugh.

'There's no point in attempted modesty _now_, Mudblood.'

I press my lips together and turn my head, thanking god that I can't see his hated face above me.

'And seeing as I've done so much for you, I find it a little galling that you think to deprive me of my rights.'

Bastard. _Bastard._ I hate him.

But there's a vein of steel in his voice that's impossible to ignore, and so I let my arms relax, allowing him to pluck them away from my breasts, pinning them to the mattress next to me. I press my lips firmly together as I _feel _his eyes running over me, leaving burning, red hot trails in their path.

The warmth of a blush spreads over my cheeks, down over my breasts.

He takes in a deep breath and lets it out very quickly.

_Oh god, oh god._

'Perhaps you _are_ worth my trouble, after all,' he murmurs.

What's that supposed to mean?

'But perhaps we aught to make sure of the fact, hmm?'

His weight crushes my breath as he leans over me fully, coming so so close, and I don't know what to do. I've never… I've never done more than _kiss_ a boy, and now I have to… with _Lucius Malfoy_, of all people…

I always thought that _this_ would be about love and trust, not power and twisted games and hatred.

And with Ron Weasley. Not with my parents' murderer.

He's coming closer. I can feel his breathing brush my lips.

I close my eyes, and…

Nothing.

'Ha.' He breathes out the word in a tiny, angry rush. 'I don't think so, somehow. You nearly got your way then, didn't you, you little muggle whore?'

I open my eyes.

_What?_

Pain rips across my face as he slaps me hard, once, twice, again and again. My ears ring and I cry out with each hit.

'Shut up, you filthy Mudblood!' he mutters viciously. 'You _disgust_ me!'

He wrenches me to my feet and throws me across the room. I stumble in the darkness and fall into something, something hard that bruises and batters me, and then there's a huge, ringing crash.

My dressing table. It must have been.

The mirror's broken, then.

A hand tangles in my hair, pulling me upright, and he punches me hard across the jaw. Technicolour fireworks explode behind my eyes.

_Stop. Stop. Stop stop stop stopstopstop!_

Slap.

_Please stop, pleaseplease _'Please stop!'

Smack.

'I told you to shut up!'

He's lost his mind.

I'm thrown to the floor, and I claw at the stone, scrambling away from him, but he rolls me over onto my back, and-

Ohmygodplease_Oooooooowowow_, get off, OFF, oh sweet god-

His heel grinds into the open wound on my shoulder. 'Tell me that you will never behave so despicably again,' I hear him hiss over my own cries of pain. 'SAY IT!'

Somehow, god only knows how, I force the words out of me, hearing them ride on my sobs.

'I will never behave so despicably again.'

'_LOUDER!_'

Oh, it's not fair it's not _fair_, I didn't do anything!

'_I will never behave so despicably again!_'

Oh, oh, please get off, please, oh-

His foot leaves my shoulder.

I curl up on my side, trying to push the humiliating sobs back down inside of me.

'Good,' he mutters.

I press my fingers onto the damp bandage, tasting blood as my teeth tear into my lip.

He takes a short breath.

'You should avoid provoking me into a rage,' he says quietly, calmly. 'And you should certainly abandon the idea of using cheap methods to get around me. I will not tolerate such behaviour from anyone, let alone a filthy Mudblood. I'd appreciate it if you could try to exert a little more self control in future.'

His footsteps ring across the floor. The door grinds open, then slams.

Is he…?

I cautiously look out into my room, but I can't see anything, of course I can't.

And so I listen.

There's nothing there. Just the harsh raggedness of my own breathing.


	18. Triangle

'_He's always, always in my mind — not as a pleasure, any more than I am always a pleasure to myself — but as my own being__.' – _Emily Bronte_, Wuthering Heights_

_HERMIONE JANE GRANGER. F. AGE: 17.  
Displays features of -  
A. Severe Depression  
B. Anxiety Disorder  
C. Obsessive Behaviour  
ADMITTED FOR LONG TERM RESIDENTIAL TREATMENT. BUILDING RESTRICTION UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE. TWENTY-FOUR HOUR WATCH._

* * *

Shaking, I curl myself up into a ball. I roll onto my side so that my shoulder doesn't have to come into contact with the hard, cold ground, but it doesn't make any difference anyway because my whole body hurts now. Everything he slapped and smacked and punched in his rage…

And my mind, my soul… those two hurt most of all.

I curl my arms up and wrap them around my head, willing more than anything for everything to go away and leave me alone in the darkness to die.

I want my mum.

Tears cling just behind my eyes and I shake with silent sobs, but I don't give myself over to the screams of misery that well up inside of me. I won't give him that satisfaction.

Not that he can hear me, anyway.

I don't know what to believe anymore.

Maybe it was just another mind game of his. It wouldn't be the first time he'd tried to mess with my head.

But… no. If it was just a game this time, he wouldn't have let it go that far.

And he wouldn't have lost it like that. He's _never _lost it like that before, ever. Not without using his wand.

But the only other option is… is that…

I need to believe that it was a mind game, even if it wasn't. The other option is just unbelievable.

Well, no. Not unbelievable. I might not be pretty and I might be young but he's used to being able to have anything he wants. Not that he _wants_ me, exactly, but like Bellatrix said, it must kill him to know that there's one thing, so close at hand and so beneath him in every way, that he can't have because he won't allow himself to.

No, it's not unbelievable.

Unthinkable, then.

And the worst thing is that tomorrow he's going to punish me in some way for something _he's _done.

Or perhaps… no. He's probably so disgusted at what just happened that he'll pretend that it _didn't _happen.

That it was all a figment of my imagination.

_Pathetic, delusional Mudblood._

I pull myself up, wincing at the pain in my shoulder, and I sit still, hugging my knees to my chest.

Why can't I just have some _light_? Why does _everything_ have to be a form of torture now, even my time alone? I thought I'd stopped being scared of the dark years ago.

But then I came here, and I learned to fear everything.

_Why_ didn't I get away from him when I had the chance?

Why is it that his will and his actions not only govern my life but now saturate my mind to the point that I can't ever think of anything else?

I'm going to suffocate. My own thoughts and my own emotions are going to asphyxiate me, drown me, kill me.

I hate him for taking me over. I hate him for treating me like a possession. I hate him because he's always there, at the back of everything, always in my mind, the mere thought of him causing me pain beyond imagining, always, always…

I hate him for entering my soul.

_You haven't given up _every _means of escape, Hermione._

My mind goes blank. Anesthetised by the prospect of release.

I crawl my way over the floor, feeling my way across the ground.

It doesn't take me long to find them. Shards of broken glass from the mirror; sharp, edgy, dangerous. None of them big enough to use as any sort of weapon, so I'm not going to try it, but their edges are sharp enough for my purpose.

I pick a fragment up and run my finger over the razor-sharp edge of it. A searing pain breaks across my finger tip, and I feel blood ooze out of my skin and roll down my finger.

He taught me once that if you slash your wrists it's more effective to cut _down_ the vein rather than across it. When he did it to me, I thought the blood would never stop coming.

If I did that now, ran the broken glass down the veins on my wrists, there would be no-one to stop me, no-one to heal me, no-one to keep me here in this hell-hole.

I want to get out of here. Now.

And I can do it. He won't be able to stop me, because it'll be too late by the time he gets back. He'll arrive and I'll be dead, and then will he be sorry? Will he feel guilty if he finds me lifeless in a pool of my own blood, my eyes glassy and open, a shard of broken glass still clutched in my hand?

Probably not.

I hold the slice of glass flat against my wrist. It's cold on my skin, but it doesn't cut yet. I just need to add a little pressure and it will, and I'll bleed and I'll cry but then I'll be out of here.

And I'll see mum and dad again.

I take a huge gulp of air, trying to force my hand down onto my wrist, but as I do one name rings out clear in my head, loud as a siren.

_Ron._

I can't leave Ron. I can't do that to him. He needs me here with him, I can't leave him now.

I won't be selfish like Lucius is.

Damn it.

I press my lips together and I fling the shard of glass out into the darkness. It clatters as it falls to the ground, snapping in half from the sounds of it.

That's two mirrors I've broken today.

I sit back, pressing my chin into my knees.

Lucius wants me alive. He might hate to admit it, but if he didn't he would have killed me when Voldemort gave him the option to do so. If he didn't want me around, if he didn't care what happened to me, he would have let me go when we were at the Burrow instead of risking his position, maybe even his life, to bring me back here.

_If you kill yourself it will have all been for nothing. If you were to die then you would really have won._

I won't go so far as to kill myself just to spite him. He isn't worth that.

_Isn't he?_

I crawl to my bed, pulling myself up onto it and wrapping myself up in my blankets, pulling them right up over my head, shaking and shaking until I unwillingly fall asleep out of sheer exhaustion.

* * *

'…_you belong to me. Your mind, your soul… your body. They all belong to me, and that means I can do exactly what I like with them…'_

_He smiles at me, looming over me in the darkness._

'_Now then, Mudblood, where were we?'_

I bolt up, sweating and shaking.

Nothing. There's nothing. Just a dream. A nightmare.

However bad my nightmares are, though, they're never as bad as what happens when I wake up.

The candles flicker dimly in their holders.

When do those lights come on, I wonder? Is it daytime? Do those candles magically light themselves when the sun rises outside?

Or have they been lit while I was asleep? Has someone been here, lighting the candles in preparation for when I wake up?

No, someone must have been here, because my dressing table is standing upright again and the mirror is whole once more, not even cracked, reflecting the room perfectly. Someone, and I bet I knew who it was, was here, repairing the damage they've done while I slept nearby, shaking in my sleep because of the nightmares he himself caused me to have.

Bastard. Does he really think that he can erase everything he's done just like that?

_Why else do you think he always heals you after he's tortured you?_

I pull myself wearily out of bed and pad across my bedroom into the bathroom. I peel off my robe and get in the bath, wanting to wash it all away, wanting to cleanse myself of the memory of Lucius' hands on me.

It's like when he touched me he peeled my skin away and got to the bare blood and bones underneath.

It's not revulsion I feel; it's not so basic an emotion as revulsion. If it were Dolohov that had done those things it would be one hundred times simpler, but because it's Lucius…

Confusion makes up a bulk of what I feel. Fear, too, and hatred. So much hatred for him because what gives him the _right _to treat me like some kind of possession, to blame me for what he's done just because he finds it easier than blaming himself?

But there's something more. It's like an ache I can't heal. A yawning, gaping emptiness that can't be filled.

My soul is _mine_, not his toy to be played with.

I get out of the bath and I get dressed in the plainest robe I can find in my wardrobe, the one with the highest neck, the longest skirt and the longest sleeves in the plainest colour - black. I comb through my wet hair, towel dry it, then dab at my new cuts and bruises with the healing lotion on my miraculously fixed dressing table. I get rid of all the evidence that last night ever happened.

Everything except the memories – the strongest evidence of all.

* * *

It's not until what feels like hours later that someone arrives at my door.

I turn around quickly, hugging my arms defensively around my chest, wondering what he could possibly want now after everything else…

But it's not him this time.

Dolohov stands in the doorway, his face twisted yet further with a hideous, mocking grin.

'Someone to see you,' he says, coming into the room and pulling someone in with him by the arm.

I sigh in absolute relief when I see who it is.

Ron. Ron Weasley. The one decent thing left in my world. He looks so relieved to see me it forces guilt and love and heartbreak down my throat. How could I ever have thought of leaving him here alone?

Neither of us smile or say anything to each-other. We just take huge steps forward and throw our arms around each-other. He nearly lifts me off my feet with the fierceness of his hold on me.

'All day long he's been going on at me.' I hear Dolohov's mocking voice, but it barely registers with me. I press my head into Ron's shoulder, breathing in the sweet smell of him. 'He wouldn't believe that you hadn't escaped or been killed last night. Are you satisfied now, Weasley, that your little friend is back?' He laughs horribly. 'Oh yes, she's back alright. Lucius saw to that, didn't he, Mudblood?'

Ron's grip on me tightens.

_No. No, Ron, don't listen, please don't listen._

Too late. He breaks away from me and turns back to the door, facing Dolohov with a tight expression. I wonder for an insane moment whether there's a possibility that both me and Ron could take him on, but then I see Dolohov's wand clutched tightly in his hand.

Magical power's the only thing that matters in this house.

Something sparks in my mind along with that thought, but I can't quite work out what it is.

'What's that supposed to mean?' Ron asks.

I look in panic from one to the other, willing them to go no further, not wanting Ron to know…

But Dolohov just won't leave it alone. He looks at the pair of us with intense malicious glee, because, of course, he must just love this whole scenario. He probably wet himself with joy when he heard about what Lucius did at the Burrow.

'But of course, you don't know, do you? You don't know exactly _why_ she didn't escape last night. You don't know why it's _her_ we've got in our power rather than Potter-'

'Stop it!' I say desperately. 'That's enough!'

A ripping, tearing pain crosses my face. I clutch at my cheek, tears stinging my eyes as I watch Dolohov's raised wand apprehensively.

He continues to talk to Ron, but he's looking at me. Every word he utters is intended for me, I know it.

'Last night, Potter didn't come to your parents' house alone,' Dolohov says quietly, smiling at me. 'He brought half the Order with him to join the party.' He walks over to us and he begins to circle me. Ron watches his every movement, but I keep my eyes on the floor. 'And when it all came to a head and the Death-Eaters were battling the Order and all of those loyal to the Dark Lord knew that their first order was to capture Harry Potter, just what did Lucius do?'

He comes all the closer as he circles me. I keep my gaze on the floor. If he doesn't get a reaction then perhaps he'll just _sod off._

He leans in to me, talking to me in a stage whisper. 'Instead of going after Potter, he focused all his energies on re-capturing this insignificant little Mudblood.' He chuckles. 'He's made himself quite unpopular with the Dark Lord with that little manoeuvre, let me tell you.'

'But why?' Ron's asks. 'Why would he do that? It doesn't make any sense.'

Dolohov turns away from me and laughs as he walks over to the door. I chance a look up to see him pause in the doorway, turning to us with a horrible, spiteful smile on his face.

'Does it need spelling out, Weasley?' he says in a drawl almost worthy of Lucius.

Fresh tears roll down my cheeks and Dolohov leaves the room, closing the door behind him, locking Ron and I in the room together alone.

I roll my gaze downwards and I look steadfastly at my feet, trying to stop the treacherous tears from falling. I feel all wrong: guilty, somehow, even though I haven't done anything _wrong_, not exactly. It was all Lucius, all him-

'Hermione?'

I work myself up to look at him from under my hair. He looks like someone who's about to discover that their worst nightmare has come true.

'Are you going to tell me what's going on?'

His voice shakes with pain and I can't _bear_ it. I reach out to touch him, but he shakes my hand away. It's like a slap in the face.

'Nothing,' I say passionately. 'It's nothing. You know what Dolohov's like, he'd say anything-'

'Is it true?' he asks quietly, his eyes dark with fear. 'Is it true that Malfoy came to re-capture you even though he was ordered to capture Harry?'

I can't lie to him. No other explanation I could give would be remotely plausible. Anyway, he could always chance to ask Bellatrix, and wouldn't she be only too happy to back Dolohov up?

God, I hate those two. What exactly is their _problem? _Why can't they just believe that there's nothing going on?

_Because that's not really completely true, is it?_

I want to shrivel up and die.

'Yes, it's true,' I say quietly.

His face is vanilla ice-cream – frozen and pale 'Why?'

'I don't know!' I say, half-truthfully. 'How am I meant to know how his mind works?'

He takes a few deep breaths, as if he's afraid of what he's about to ask. 'Has he tried anything? Tell me, Hermione, I need to know. I'll kill him if he has.'

Has he done anything to me? He's done everything to me, and yet he's done nothing to me. What kind of answer can I give to that question?

'He hasn't done anything!' I swear, Lucius making a liar of me once again. 'He wouldn't ever. I'm muggle-born, remember? Do you know what he told me last night? He told me that I'm less than a human being. Would he try something with someone he feels like that about?'

I hate myself for lying, but Ron's reaction makes me breathe a little easier. His face calms down a little, though his voice is shaky with anger. 'He can't talk to you like that.'

'I know he shouldn't, but he does anyway,' I say, my voice rising hysterically. I've been holding it all locked within myself and now it's all spilling to the surface. 'It never ends, ever. Every day he comes here to torment me some more. I thought he'd taken everything but then my parents… my parents…'

My heart breaks just to say the word. Every moment I think about them makes me want to die of agony.

Ron pulls me up into a hug, and I rest my head on my shoulder, determinedly pushing my tears back within myself.

He pulls back and looks at me. His blue eyes are so much clearer, so much more colourful than Lucius' piercing grey ones. I can look into them and feel no fear, just safety.

'We'll get revenge for it, Hermione, I promise you,' he says with absolute certainty. 'As soon as we get out of here, we'll make him pay for what he's done.'

I don't say anything. I just nod, knowing deep inside that it's all hopeless. Even if we _could_ get out of here, which I doubt we ever will, I've already proved that I couldn't take revenge on him even if I tried to. I had my chance and I blew it.

'I was so worried…' Ron seems to struggle to get his voice out. 'I didn't know what had happened to you. They never tell me anything.'

'But Dolohov said that he'd told you I was here.'

'He did, but I didn't know whether to believe him. I thought he might be lying to shut me up. I can't tell when they're lying or not, 'cos they never speak to me.' His voice is hard and bitter. 'All they ever do is bring me my food and occasionally take me for walks round the garden.'

'There's a _garden_?' I ask incredulously.

'Yeah,' he says, looking confused. 'Out the back. It's not really a garden, actually. It's strange. I think it's _inside_ the cave, if that makes sense.' He shakes his head. 'But you must have been to it!'

'No,' I say quietly. 'I only ever leave this room when they want me for something.'

He looks horrified. 'God, Hermione, what do you do with your time?'

I breathe out a tiny, hysterical laugh. 'I wait for… for _him_ to come,' I say truthfully, everything boiling up to the surface. 'He comes here every day to torment me. Whether it's for his own personal enjoyment or for his 'duty' to Voldemort, it makes no difference. Every day he's here, torturing me in some way or another.'

Ron's face goes scarlet with anger. 'What does he do to you?'

I can't be completely truthful, so I leave some details out. I have to, for Ron's sake. And so what I say is actually quite far from the truth, just because it's far too simplistic an explanation for what's really going on.

'He beats me up,' I say quietly. 'Or he uses magic on me, whatever he feels like that day. Usually because I provoke him.' My voice starts to rise hysterically again. 'I can never keep my mouth shut, I can never just shut up and let him win, and so he carries on, and on, never leaving it alone until he feels like he's won. If I could only keep quiet-'

'But why should you?' Ron says, his own voice rising with rage. 'Why should you let him win? Why shouldn't you try to fight back?'

'Because he has complete power over me!' I walk around the room, frantically wringing my hands. 'He controls my entire existence. Every moment of my life now centres around his whim. What else can I do but do as he says?'

'You can continue to fight back!' Ron grabs me by the shoulders, shaking me. 'He's not _God_, Hermione!'

'_He may as well be_!' I shake his hands away, and I turn to the wall, away from him. 'You don't understand! He said once that he'll never let me escape him, and he's right, because even if we do get out of here I'll never be able to forget him! His face will haunt my nightmares for the rest of my life. I'll never be able to go out for fear of him. I'll never be free of him, never-'

He spins me around and grips me around the waist, holding me to him tightly and staring ferociously into my eyes as he brings his hand up to rub furiously at my cheek.

'I promise you we'll get out of here,' he says fiercely, quietly. 'And when we do, I swear that I'll protect you. I'm going to look after you. I-'

The door bangs open. I turn my head quickly and my stomach contracts in on itself to see Lucius standing in the doorway.

All the memories of last night come rushing back to me, writing a blush of shame across my face.

He freezes when he sees us, when he sees Ron's arm around my waist and his hand on my face. His face is like granite – harsh, stony, unmoving.

I instinctively back away from Ron, who lets go of my waist, but Lucius doesn't even look at him. He just glares at me, a cold, hard sneer on his face.

'How… touching,' he drawls, but he's smiling, of all things. With malice, of course, but he's still smiling. 'Or perhaps I should say, how nauseating. Weasley, I know that your family are the lowest kind of scum, but that does not give you, a pureblood, an excuse to dirty your hands on a Mudblood.'

He points his wand at Ron, who goes flying back into the wall behind him. He cries out as his body slams into the stone, and my heart rips for him.

'We weren't… Lucius, stop!' I storm over to him to try and wrench his wand away, but he reaches out and grips me by the throat, still pointing his wand at Ron. I choke in his grasp, and when he looks into my eyes all I can see is pure loathing as he for a moment lets his guard down.

'Don't you _ever _call me that again!' he whispers harshly, tightening his grip round my throat. I gag and gasp, my throat contracting and expanding under his grip. He sneers at me in disgust before he throws me down on the ground. My ankle twists underneath me painfully as I fall to the floor, gasping for air.

I watch his feet move away from me, not daring to look up into his face for fear of what I might see.

'And you, Weasley, will come with me. You shouldn't have been allowed up here in the first place.' I watch two pairs of feet move across the ground, Lucius' striding in front, Ron's stumbling behind him. 'Wait for my return, Mudblood. And if you haven't got up and made yourself a touch more agreeable by the time I get back… well, I assume you can imagine what the consequences will entail.'

The door opens.

'Hermione, I'm sorry-' Ron's voice wavers in the air.

The door slams shut.

Only then do I dare to look. I peer out from under the fuzzy brown haze of my hair.

They've gone.

I shiver and close my eyes, tears rolling down my cheeks, tangling into my hair.

I can't handle it. I just can't handle it anymore. I've never felt so confused in my entire life.

What _right_ has he to be angry with me?

_Every right in the world…_

No, he _doesn't! _He does not own me!

Maybe if he tries to say anything I could bring up last night… but no. That would be against the rules.

_Whose rules?_

His rules, my rules… it's all the same, isn't it?

_I thought you said he doesn't own you._

The door slams open. He was quick to come back this time.

'I thought I told you to get up before I got back!'

A huge burst of pain cracks down my spine. I press my lips together and try stumble to my feet, but my ankle hurts and I fall down again…

A hand tangles itself in my hair and wrenches me upwards, dragging me over to the wall and slamming me against it. His hand locks round my throat and then I have to look at him, I've got no choice. My eyes are melting with tears but his are hardened with anger, squinted, narrowed.

'I'm sorry,' I whisper. His face curls into a malicious grin.

'You have a great deal of things you should be sorry for, Mudblood,' he drawls. 'Being born; _that_ you should be sorry for. Parading yourself as a witch; _that_ you should be sorry for. Your insolence, your pride, your insufferable supposed 'bravery'…' He pauses for effect, that smile of his remaining firmly in place. 'But in this instance you're going to have to be a bit more specific, I'm afraid. What exactly is it that you're sorry for?'

_No. I won't play games with you anymore._

He looks deeply into my eyes, his mind seeping into my own, pulling out my thoughts like a syringe would pull out blood.

'Oh, you believe that you have need to apologise for your behavior with Weasley?' He laughs mockingly. 'Well, yes, I can see how you might wish to apologise for that. You know how I feel about a Pureblood mixing with a Mudblood. But if you think that you need to say sorry because the thought of _you _and _him_ makes me angry, then you have no need.'

'But we weren't _doing_ anything-'

A harsh burn whips across my face, and I reach my hand up to feel the swollen welt that rises on my cheek. He wrenches my hand away from my face, replacing it with his own. He smiles and I wince as his fingers trail over the wound.

'I have absolutely no interest in your relationship with him,' he says quietly.

He brushes his hand over my cheek, running his thumb over my lips, a cruel smile curling his own as I shudder at his touch.

He's going to go too far.

I'm going to cry.

'You see, Mudblood, you belong to me,' he says quietly. 'And you know it. I see the truth staring back at me from those defenceless eyes of yours.' He reaches down for my hand, circling his fingers around my wrist and bringing it up to the wall next to me, pinning it there. 'You know that I haven't taken control of you – you have handed yourself over, given me complete power over you willingly.'

He flicks his wand over my arm and a harsh burn snaps across it. Tears collect in my eyes as I feel the skin swell.

He sneers as he moves his face closer to mine. 'Weasley's… _charms_ just don't compare to the hold I have over you. And you know it. It's pathetic, laughable, even, how you have unwillingly allowed yourself to depend your entire existence on me.'

Another burning streak whips across my arm, crossing over the one he's already made. My nose stings and silent tears roll out of my eyes. He breathes a laugh and lets go of my wrist, stepping away from me. I slide to the ground in a haze of hopeless despair, hating him, hating the world, hating myself.

'You look like you have something to say, Mudblood.'

I look up at him, and I say the only words that come to me.

'I hate you,' I whisper.

He smirks. 'But of course you do. I wouldn't have it otherwise. Don't you remember me telling you how hatred is so much more delicious than adoration?'

'Delicious?' I whisper. 'Well, _feed _off it then, _Lucius_ Malfoy. I hate you so much that it makes me want to die. Is that _delicious_ enough for you?'

He smirks at me, his eyes gleaming darkly.

'And to think that I begrudged taking charge of you when the plan to capture you was first hatched.' My eyes widen, and he sneers. 'What? Did you think that I actually _asked_ for the job? I'm afraid not. After all, what possible attraction could the task of taking care of an arrogant, ugly little muggle bookworm with a distinct lack of social graces have for me?'

He may as well have slapped me across the face. But I don't say anything. The question I desperately want to ask him is a thankless one.

'But he did insist, you see,' he carries on in that pitiless drawl, 'and now I have to confess I am glad that he did. My time with you has been most… entertaining.'

He crouches down next to me and takes my chin in his hand. 'Aren't you pleased that we have had this time together? I daresay you can't even imagine an existence without me now.'

I can't stand it. I can't _stand _it, because he's right.

But it's all wrong! He's making out like I… like I _want _him in my life, and I don't, I _don't!_

He curls a malicious grin at me. 'I want an answer to that, Mudblood.'

I just glare at him. I won't give him an answer, I won't won't _won't_.

He curls up his lip. 'So, you are so unbelievably arrogant that you won't admit something that you know to be true anyway, but you do not have enough pride to avoid throwing yourself away on a Weasley?' He breathes a laugh, running his eyes over me, but those eyes flicker with a different emotion, just for a second, before it leaves once again. 'Perhaps you need a few more lessons in _pride_, Mudblood, and just when and where it's necessary.'

_Oh no._

He steps back from me and turns away, walking over to the door. When he reaches it he turns back to me, his hand resting idly on the door handle.

'You will recall that my son expressed a desire to come and visit you during your stay here.'

I gasp in horror. Oh no, not Draco, I can't handle it…

'You can't!' I whisper.

He smiles. 'I think you'll find that I can. But I am not without compassion, Mudblood.'

I can't believe he just said that.

'I will give you one hour to make yourself ready. My son's skills in magic are less honed than my own, but I shall be there to instruct him, so you will need time to prepare yourself for what is about to come.'

He turns to go.

'Why can't you do it yourself?' I ask without really thinking about what consequences my words might have.

He turns back to me, a small smirk on his face. 'Would you like me to?'

I clamp my mouth shut. He laughs.

'One hour,' he repeats, before closing the door, locking it behind him.


	19. Like Father, Like Son

'ANNE: _O, wonderful, when devils tell the truth!  
_RICHARD: _More wonderful, when angels are so angry.' - _William Shakespeare, _Richard III_

* * *

It's strange. When we were at Hogwarts Draco seemed so much taller than he looks now.

He follows his father into my bedroom. Lucius turns to lock the door, trapping me in a room with a man and a boy who probably hate me more than anything else in the world…

Well, no. I can safely say that about Lucius, but I'm guessing that particular honour is reserved for Harry in Draco's case.

But I'm sure I'm not far down his list.

I'm certain I'm at the top of Lucius' though. Regardless of whatever else might happen, I can always be absolutely certain that he hates me.

It's what goes _with_ that hate that I wish I knew more about.

They both stand in front of me, both of them in robes of black, an almost identical sneer on their pale faces. They're so similar in every way…

And yet so very different.

'Good afternoon, Miss Granger.'

Lucius' voice. Just a greeting, that's all. Nothing malicious in it, if you take it purely on objective terms.

I stand up straight as Draco smiles his spiteful smile at me. I'm not going to let this beat me. I mean, it's only _Draco, _for crying out loud! I've had to face Voldemort himself, Bellatrix, Dolohov, and Lucius…

All the same, it seems so… wrong that I'm going to have to face god knows what coming from someone I've known since I was eleven years old. I can remember Draco being sent sweets by owl post, gleefully unwrapping them at the Slytherin house table.

Now he's going to torture me, under supervision from his precious bloody father.

More than anything, it's downright humiliating to know that Draco's finally going to triumph over me.

It doesn't matter, because whatever happens I think it's safe to say that Draco truly lives in his father's shadow now. He'll never, ever scare me like Lucius does, no matter what he decides to do to me today.

'Alright, Granger?' Malfoy junior asks, practically sniggering at me. 'Lovely day, isn't it? Brilliant weather for this time of year. But, of course,' he grins maliciously, 'you wouldn't know, would you, being stuck in here all day.'

I want to roll my eyes, but as my gaze flickers to Lucius I see that he's already doing just that.

Oh, not at me. No, that would indicate some kind of… comradeship. No, it's just to himself.

Draco doesn't notice, of course.

'Never mind,' he drawls, his grin so wide it looks like he's going to split his face in half. 'I'll spare you a thought when I'm out in the sunshine and you're in here in the dark. I'll be laughing when I do it, of course, but still – it's the thought that counts, isn't it?'

Lucius smirks at that one, but it doesn't register with me. I let my thoughts drift to the world outside for a moment.

It's sunny out there, then. But he said 'for this time of year', so it must be… well, at least September, from what he was saying.

God, that must mean I've been here for… a month? Less than that, maybe…

_Focus, Hermione. The here and now._

Oh yes, the here and now. Cold stone, no light, and heir pale faces, waiting for an answer to Draco's taunts with an almost perverse expectancy.

Sadism must run in the family.

'My, someone's feeling particularly _witty_ this morning,' I say. 'How long did it take you to come up with _that_ little jibe, Draco? All evening, was it? You mustn't blame yourself. My guess is you've always been a little slow, if your performance at school was anything to go by.'

A ghost of a smirk crosses Lucius' lips. Draco just blanches in rage. I've hit a raw nerve with that remark. He never could handle me beating him in class.

Draco whips his wand out of the pocket of his robes. I take an involuntary but automatic step backwards. He smiles at that. So does Lucius.

'Oh yes, Mudblood,' Draco says. 'Unlike you, _I_ still have my wand.'

Which wand is he referring to? My _real_ wand, that I last saw snapping in half in his father's palm, or the wand I used last night, that I last saw being crushed under his father's boot?

_Does it matter?_

'Which means I can do this.'

A burning crack of pain cuts across the back of my knees, causing them to bend involuntarily. My kneecaps bruise as they bang onto the ground, taking the brunt of my fall.

But I didn't cry out. I somehow managed to avoid that. That's one small victory, anyway.

'Very good, Draco.' That's Lucius' voice; deeper, more refined than his son's, somehow. 'But I think perhaps we can do better than that, hmm?'

_You sick, sadistic bastard! I hate you!_

'I did it exactly how you taught me-'

'No, you misunderstand me. What I mean is that if you want your revenge to prove satisfactory then you need to do more than a simple scorching hex.'

I roll my eyes up, ignoring Draco but staring at his father with so much hatred that it would surely kill him if thoughts could take physical form.

He watches me with a sadistic smile. He's daring me to react to his words. He's goading me into providing him with an excuse to push me away…

I gather up whatever dignity I have left and I push myself up onto my feet, lifting myself up from the crown of my head downwards.

Lucius breathes a chuckle. Draco grins, although his eyes slide over to his father, ever so slightly, as if he wants to know what exactly is so amusing.

He shouldn't intrude on things he doesn't understand.

Maybe I should tell him all about what his father did last night. That would wipe the smug smile off Lucius' face, oh wouldn't it just?

But… no. I couldn't tell him. I couldn't ever tell _anyone_. It's as if what happened last night is a secret, a dark secret that I don't want anybody, least of all Draco sodding Malfoy, to know about.

Lucius has got me trapped into silence, playing along with his sick little game, and he hasn't even had to threaten me into it.

_- you have handed yourself over, given me complete power over you willingly__-_

God, I hate him!

'What do you notice about the way she's standing, Draco?'

Draco looks at me. 'She's standing up straight?' He voices it as a question.

'Exactly,' Lucius says with satisfaction. 'Which means?'

'She's not afraid of us?'

'Don't be a fool. Is she stupid?'

Draco smirks. 'Well, no-one says so, but-'

'An important lesson, Draco – never dismiss the abilities of your opponent,' Lucius says coldly. 'I repeat – is she stupid?'

'No,' Draco replies reluctantly.

'Which means she is certain to fear us. And so why do you think she's standing up straight?'

The stupid little ferret smiles maliciously when he finally gets it. 'It's a matter of pride. She's trying to convince us that she's not afraid of what we're going to do to her.'

'Precisely.' Lucius sneers at me. 'But all three of us know that to be a charade, I think.'

_Bloody bastard, you _won't _let Draco think I'm scared of him!_

'I'm not afraid of you,' I say quietly, but I catch sight of Lucius' raised eyebrow and I modify my words to make them less of a lie. 'Not of your son, anyway.'

Draco's lip curls up in anger as Lucius smiles a gratified, gloating smile.

'And why not?' Draco asks almost petulantly. 'I've got a wand, and I can do magic that you can only dream of-'

'Oh, but I _do_ dream of it, Draco, every night,' I hiss back, losing my temper. 'I have nightmares about the sort of magic you're talking about, your bloody father's seen to that-'

'Enough.' Lucius doesn't even raise his voice, but the warning is clear. I shut my mouth. He smirks at me and turns to his son.

'Wouldn't it be gratifying if she could be as afraid of you as she is of me? It doesn't take much, you know.' He smiles at me mercilessly. 'She might pride herself on being a Gryffindor, but she's just a little coward at heart.'

_I hate you. So much._

Draco laughs. 'Well she hasn't got Potter to protect her now, has she?' he says triumphantly. 'How does that feel, Mudblood? All you've got left is Weasley, and even if he were here with us he would probably prove himself to be as useless as he always does. Why don't we bring him up here, just for five minutes-'

'I told you, _no._' Lucius' voice isn't raised, just steely. 'Weasley is not to be harmed when his safety is the one thing keeping his parents under our control. To put their loyalty in jeopardy simply for your own desire for vengeance would be pure selfishness.'

Two pink spots appear on Draco's cheeks and he turns away from his father, glaring at me as if somehow it's _my _fault that his father chastised him.

'Fine,' he splutters, losing his cool. 'That's fine. We don't need him, anyway, do we Granger? Do you want to see what I've learned since I left school? Do you want to see just how little it matters how well you did at Hogwarts? Oh, you thought you were so _special_, didn't you? Everyone's favourite little Mudblood pet. None of that matters now.' He laughs maliciously. 'I'm going to make you sorry that you _ever_ presumed to be better than me, you little muggle cow!'

I _want_ to start shaking, but I stop myself. I will _not _be afraid of Draco Malfoy. He's just the school bully, that's all he is. He does _not_ scare me.

My gaze slides over Lucius, who leans against the wall as he watches us, his expression unfathomable, before it moves back over to Draco.

'Nothing you do to me will change the fact that I beat you at school, will it?' I say quietly, forcing a shaky smile onto my face.

Draco snarls and raises his wand, and I automatically recoil, preparing myself for what's to come...

'Wait.' Lucius raises his hand in command and walks over to the pair of us. Draco lowers his wand, glowering at me as his father approaches me, coming closer, I realise now, than he has for the entire duration of this visit.

He probably doesn't want his son to know just how _cosy _some of his visits can get.

He stands about half a metre away from me. Too close, and yet further away than he usually is.

'You might want to apologise for that little remark,' he says quietly.

God help me, I don't know why I say what I say next, but I just can't _bear _him behaving as if nothing has happened, as if nothing has changed since when he first captured me, as if he's as indifferent to me now as he was then.

I won't help him put up this charade for his son.

'Are you going to apologise for what you did last night?' I whisper.

His hand whips across my face in one of the hardest slaps he's ever given me. My head reels back and I fall to the floor.

I can taste blood in my mouth.

He looks at me for a few moments, his jaw twitching, before he turns away from me and walks swiftly to the other side of the room. I bring my hand up to my mouth. Warm blood runs out of my lips, over my fingers.

Draco watches me with a smile on his face, but it's a smile that's slightly uneasy. I don't think he heard what I said, but he saw what his father just did to me.

And I think it's shocked him.

_Have you still got the strength to follow in your father's footsteps, little boy?_

Lucius looks at me with intense hatred for a moment from the other side of the room, his face out of his son's view, before he forces his expression into one of calm.

'Cutting hexes first, I think, Draco.'

Coward. Why can't he do it himself if he wants to push me away?

_You answered your own question there, Hermione._

Draco frowns at me slightly before he approaches me, his wand raised in his shaking hand.

* * *

I crawl across the ground, claw my way over the stone as the throbbing after-shock of the Cruciatus curse twinges through me. My arms shake to carry my weight, but I've got to get away from them. I can't go through that again, I just _can't_.

We've been at this for hours now, surely they can just _stop_!

'She's trying to get away.' That's Lucius' voice, cutting through me, causing me almost as much pain as the Cruciatus curse itself. 'You might want to stop her.'

'I was just about to-'

'You're not making fast work of it, are you?'

'She can't exactly get far, can she?' Draco says sulkily.

'It's the principle of the matter that concerns me. She needs to learn that this meeting is on _your_ terms, not hers.'

_God, Draco's got a lot to learn, _I think irrationally, something pulls at my hair and wrenches me onto my back, dragging me across the floor.

I look up into their identical sneering faces, slip my gaze over Draco to look at Lucius, who only watches me for a moment before his face flickers and he turns to his son. I catch sight of Draco's wand and my eyes roll back into my skull with remembered agony.

I curl up onto my side, shivering.

'You're doing well, Draco.' A foot tucks under my chin and rolls my head up, and I open my eyes despite myself to see them both looking down at me as Lucius withdraws his boot from my face.

They're sneering at me, although both of them have something lurking just underneath the surface of their distain.

Draco looks distinctly uneasy now. He almost looks frightened, despite his arrogant air.

Whereas Lucius still has that same old look on his face. Arrogance, anger, abhorrence.

And then that small spark of _something_, that something that he never had when he first captured me but that I see on his face so often now.

I think I might be on my way to understanding what that _something _is.

I'm sick of trying to figure him out. I want him to tear off the Death-Eater's mask and stop pretending. I want to scratch away at the surface and see what's underneath so that I can truly know him, even if what I see hurts so much and causes me so much pain that I want to die.

'Look at her,' Lucius says quietly, although he himself won't look at me. 'I don't think she'd deny that she fears you now, after what you've put her through.'

He smiles at his son, although his son's reciprocation seems a little forced.

God. Who would have thought that Draco Malfoy, the bully I've known since we were just children, would be able to cause that much pain. Almost as much as his father.

And yet somehow nowhere near as much as his father.

My cheek stings with a burning streak of invisible flame.

'Look at me… at _us_, Mudblood.'

I do as I'm told.

_Now _he's looking at me.

'Please,' I whisper. 'Just… please…'

His face tightens before he turns to his son. 'Perhaps one more time, Draco,' he says coldly. 'Just once more to punish her for the audacity of asking us for anything, let alone to show mercy on a worthless Mudblood.'

Draco looks down at me, frowning. 'Don't you think…'

He trails off, his cheeks turning slightly pink.

Lucius raises an eyebrow. 'Do you have something to say?' he asks quietly.

Draco shakes his head and raises his wand.

No. _No!_

I drag up all the strength I have left and roll to the side. The green light of the cruciatus curse misses me by millimetres.

I push myself up onto my knees and I stare at the pair of them, my breathing harsh. Draco's eyes are wide, incredulous trenchers. Lucius is almost smiling.

I hate him. I _hate _him!

'Have you had enough, Mudblood?' he asks coldly.

I take a deep breath.

There's one thing I can do. One thing I can use against him to make him stop. I don't want to, I don't want Draco to know, but I'm _damned_ if I'm going to let this go on.

'You will stop this,' I say shakily. 'Now.'

Draco laughs a disbelieving laugh, but Lucius frowns at me, his eyes flashing a warning.

'And why would I want to do that?' he asks quietly.

I steel my nerve.

I can't say anything. I don't dare to, not in front of Draco, but I can still _think_. He hasn't taken that away from me yet.

I lock my gaze onto his, and I fill my brain with words as I feel his mind interweave with mine.

_You will stop this, or I'll tell Draco some very interesting things about his father._

His eyes narrow into slits of rage, but I continue to scream the words in my mind.

_I'll tell him all about you and his Aunt. And when I've finished with that, I'll tell him all about what you did last night after we came back…_

His face freezes with absolute fury, filling my insides with ice.

'Father, what's going on?'

But quick as a flash Lucius crouches over me, planting his wand into my throat with such force that it almost makes me gag. His free hand grips onto the front of my robes, wrenching my face up close to his.

He should be careful. He can't come too close in front of Draco.

'No, you won't,' he says whispers, so very quietly. 'Unless you want Weasley to be tortured half to death in front of you, you will keep your filthy mouth _shut_.'

Damn. _Damn. _He could use Ron to get me to do anything.

I clamp my lips together. He's won this one.

Lucius nods, his face still white with rage as he lets go of me. But he doesn't put a safe distance between us once again.

Draco laughs, which irritates me beyond belief. After all, he doesn't have the remotest clue about what's reallygoing on.

_Welcome to the club._

'Oh yes, you wouldn't want your precious weasel harmed would you?' The ferret sneers at me. 'Well at least you've got each-other's company to wile away the hours.'

'Indeed, Draco.' Lucius smirks at me with pure malice. His face is still quite close to mine, although not as close as it _could _be. 'Although why anyone, even scum like Wealsey, would want this ugly little throwback is really beyond me.'

Anger pounds through me, flies through my veins like electricity.

_How can you say that? After everything, why do you still call me ugly? It's not fair, it's not fair, you BASTARD, if I'm so ugly then why the hell did I wake up last night to feel your fingers trailing up and down my back, why, why, WHY? I HATE YOU!_

He flinches back, sucking in his breath sharply.

'Father?'

I blink, watching Lucius, who doesn't respond to his son but turns back to me, frowning.

What's going on?

'Father,' Draco says tentatively, 'you're… you're _bleeding_.'

Bleeding?

God, he's right. Beads of blood are seeping out of a tiny cut in the white alabaster of his cheek that definitely wasn't there a second ago.

I gulp.

How the hell did _that _happen?

'What _was_ that?' Draco asks, but Lucius still looks at me, his eyes narrowed. 'Did she have a magical reaction or something-'

'_SILENCE!_' Lucius shouts suddenly, making both Draco and I jump. He watches me closely, looking deeply into my eyes, his face pale and twisted with what looks like…

Worry?

'Well… I mean, it's not the end of the world, is it?' Draco says nervously. 'She must have done it before-'

'I told you to be quiet!'

He's staring at me with such intense rage that I have to stop myself from apologising for hurting him out of pure fear.

What's Draco talking about, anyway?

Does he mean the wandless magic people used to talk about in school? The kind that made Harry blow up his Aunt, and Neville bounce down his back garden-

-_the kind that made _him _fly backwards and away from you_-

I… what?

I swear I just… but it's gone, I can't…

I try to grip it again, to grab hold of that sudden thought and work out what it means, but it slips away from me like water and I can't remember what it was.

Lucius' eyes widen for a moment as they lock into my own, and yes, I was right, there's definitely worry there now. His face contorts before he grabs me by the front of my robes, pushing his wand into my throat.

'You… insolent little bitch,' he whispers. 'I'll teach you your place if it kills me. _Crucio!_'

Pain slams into me, and I spin away, fall through darkness…

One thousand sounds and pictures. All alien. All familiar.

'_By God, you will learn your place, by the time I am finished with you.'_

What is… what? I can't remember it…

I _can_ remember it. Pictures, sounds, thoughts, all crystal clear.

'_Pushed into it, you say?' He walks over to me, slowly. 'Alright, Mudblood, I'll make a deal with you.'_

_He reaches me and he raises his hand to my cheek, brushing my hair away from my face._

'_I am going to try and 'push' you into doing some wandless magic,' he says quietly. 'If a magical reaction is provoked in you, then I shall probably end up getting hurt in some way, but I give you my full permission to do that. Do you understand me, Muggle? I am so certain that you will be unable to perform any wandless magic that I am giving you permission to hurt me.'_

He gave me permission to do it, didn't he? But when I did, when I did…

What happened when I did?

More memories cram into my mind.

'_So I want control over you, do I?' he hisses. 'I want power over your _body,_ is that what you're suggesting?' He laughs mirthlessly before he slaps me hard across the face with the back of his hand. 'You pathetic little _bitch! _Do you really think that I'd ever consider even _thinking _of you in that way?'_

_He pummels his fist into my stomach and I double over, collapsing onto the ground._

'_You are _filth!_' His voice is harsh with rage. 'You are _nothing_! What right have you to say such things to me?'_

_I'm crying, crying in front of him again like I promised myself I would never do, screaming as he kicks out at me again, and again…_

I needed him to stop, I needed it to end, but he just wouldn't, even though I begged and pleaded with him…

Yet more thoughts and visions come screaming back at me.

'_You are useless. Worthless. I don't need to prove to you how worthless you are – if you don't know it already then there's no helping you.'_

_Oh just FUCK OFF! Leave me alone leave me alone!_

_He wrenches my head round brutally to face him again, and he looks into my face intently for a moment…_

_And then he slaps me again._

_I can't bloody _stand _that bloody personal infliction of pain!_

_I hate him so so _so _much!_

_That electricity flies through me, coursing through my veins._

_Focus, Hermione! Channel it!_

_He chuckles cruelly._

'_As if I'd _ever _touch you,' he murmurs, 'you piece of muggle _scum_!'_

_Come on! Push it out of you! Force it through your fingers!_

_HATEHATEHATEHATEHATEHATEHATE!_

_I feel the electricity shoot out of me, through my fingertips, and suddenly he flies backwards, flies away from me across the room, back, and back…_

_He lands on the ground on the other side of the room, sprawled on the stone floor._

I did it! I remember. God, I _remember!_

The final piece of the puzzle soars into my mind, making it whole once again.

'_You coward!' I whisper incredulously._

_A muscle goes in his jaw._

'_Believe what you like about me, Mudblood,' he says quietly. 'It is of no consequence to me.'_

_He raises his wand._

_No!_

'_Obliviate!'_

I swim up through darkness, clawing my way to the surface.

Air rips into my lungs in a huge, gasping breath as my eyes throw themselves open, not seeing anything because my mind is still processing the new memories, everything slotting into place, everything making sense, all of it…

My body bucks and heaves on the ground as I take huge, rasping breaths.

'What's the matter with her?'

'If I knew, don't you think I'd do something to stop it?'

His voice. I cling onto it, let it drag me to the surface.

Things come into focus, all the blurriness is swept away as my mind clicks back into place. Lucius' face is close to mine, his brow furrowed and his eyes flickering over my face with what is definitely fear.

'You…' My voice comes out as a thread. Lucius watches me with disgusted incomprehension, but I've got to say this, I've got to. 'You… my memory… I…'

His eyes widen and his face loses its colour, going so pale in his rage that his skin is almost translucent.

'Draco.' His lips barely move as he speaks. 'Get out. Go down to the hallway, I'll meet you there.'

'But Father-'

'OUT!' Lucius shouts suddenly. With great effort I move my gaze over to Draco, who glares at the back of his father's head before he turns and walks towards the door, throwing me the look of deepest dislike as he leaves the room, slamming the door shut behind him.

Lucius stands up, gripping me by the arm and wrenching me to my feet. His fingers bite through my robe and into my skin as he shakes me in his fury.

'What did you see?' he asks harshly. When I don't reply he slaps me hard across the face. '_Answer me!_'

God, I'm so angry, I'm so _angry_! I just don't care about _anything _any more. How could he?

'You _obliviated _me!' I shout. 'You bloody coward, you obliviated me!'

He nods his head, a tiny angry smirk coming back to his lips as he tries to force his anger away.

'And if I did?' He grips my chin, bringing my face so close to him that I can see every line of fury grooved into his face. 'In case you'd forgotten, I own you. That means I can do as I like with you, Mudblood. You have no right to question my actions.'

I wrench my face out of his grip. 'I have every right in the world!' I yell. 'It's my _memory!_ How _dare _you take away my memory? Isn't enough for you that you've taken every aspect of my existence under control without taking hold of my mind, too?'

He draws back his hand but I turn and run from him, hating myself for not shutting up and keeping quiet because now I've made him angry again, I can never stop making him angry-

'Don't run away from me, you revolting animal!'

An invisible hook draws me back and fireworks explode and limbs snap as I slam back into the cold, unforgiving stone wall. He steps in front of me, his face furious.

'It doesn't matter,' he says quietly. 'Wandless magic can't be controlled. You could never use it to your advantage. One can't pick and choose what spells to perform without a wand unless you are a wizard of the most advanced kind, and even then it's extremely difficult to conjure.'

I don't say what I'm thinking - that it doesn't matter if I never do wandless magic again, what good it'll do me. No, what matters is that both he and I know that I am just as magical as he is. He can't ever again say to me that I'm an incapable witch without both of us knowing it to be false.

He runs his wand down my cheek.

'Besides,' he says negligently, 'what's to stop me from doing it again? I could erase this whole day from your memory with a flick of my wand.'

I stand stock still, not even _comprehending_ him.

'You said once, after you killed my parents, that you'd never lied to me,' I say quietly, shaking with how much I hurt right now. 'But you did, Lucius. You took my memory away from me, and you never told me about it. You've lied to me every day since you did that.'

If I didn't know him as well as I do I'd say that he flinched a little at my words.

He flicks his wand at me, releasing me from the wall. I stumble forwards slightly and he catches me by the arm.

He draws me up to face him, pulling me close, and suddenly there doesn't seem to be enough air in the world. His eyes have drained it all away from me.

He… he reaches out and trails his finger down my cheek, writing a blush over it.

He's looking intently into my eyes, bringing his face close, so close.

I breathe in unsteadily, but I can't hear _him _breathing.

He draws his fingers back from my face, clenching them into his palm as his mouth sets into a thin line.

'One day you'll go too far,' he says quietly, releasing me from his grip, 'and you don't even want to think about what my reaction will be when you do.'


	20. My Protector

_'Some have won a wild delight,  
By daring wilder sorrow;  
Could I gain thy love to-night,  
I'd hazard death to-morrow._

_Could the battle-struggle earn  
One kind glance from thine eye,  
How this withering heart would burn,  
The heady fight to try!'_ – Charlotte Bronte,_ Passion_

* * *

'There's no point, Ron. They'll have put silencing charms on the door-'

'Shh. I think I can hear something.'

'Even if you can, you're not going to over-hear anything that can help us.'

'Well I'm sorry if I'm not resigning myself to spending the rest of my life in this hell-hole just yet!'

I sigh and go back to scrubbing the floor as he presses his ear to the door once again, his face straining as he listens with all his might.

I saw Lucius again today.

It was the first time I've seen him since I got my memory back. It's always been Bellatrix that's brought me down to do my chores.

Not that I care. I've got enough to get along with, what with all the housework these bastards have got us doing.

All except for the cooking, of course. They don't trust us with knives.

And it's not as if I miss him when I'm alone, either, because then all I'm doing is trying desperately to use wandless magic again.

Not that I could ever miss him, anyway.

I hate to admit it, but I think he might have been right when he said wandless magic can't be forced. No matter how hard I try it, it just won't come.

I grit my teeth, scraping the wet cloth against a stubborn patch of something unmentionable on the floor. I can't give Bellatrix an excuse to punish me yet again for failing to get the room completely spotless.

I feel a stab of resentment, then. It's alright for Ron. He can afford to waste his time listening at the door. Bellatrix won't punish _him_. I don't think she's allowed to. But even if she was, I know that she would choose to punish me rather than him. And not just because I'm a _Mudblood, _either.

Lucius could have at least looked at me today. Could have at least acknowledged my existence, the bastard.

They seem to be holding some kind of meeting in the next room. Ron is convinced that if he just listens hard enough at the door then he will over-hear something that might help us escape, or something that might be useful for the Order when we _do _eventually escape. Because we will escape in the end, he says, or if we don't then the Order will come and rescue us.

Sometimes I wonder how he still manages to hope. I gave up all pretence of _hope_ the night Lucius came to my room and told me that my parents were dead.

I take a deep breath to steady myself, grief grasping me by the heart, making me feel physically sick.

God, even a change of scenery might make things better, if only as a distraction…

'Ron, you know the garden you were talking about?'

He presses his ear harder against the door, his face screwed up in concentration. 'Yeah?'

'Could you tell me about it again?'

'For God's sake, how the hell am I meant to hear anything when I've got you wittering on at me every second?'

I press my lips together and slam my rag on the ground, scrubbing furiously.

Barely a few moments pass before I feel a hand on my shoulder.

'Hermione?'

'What?' I snap.

'I'm sorry,' he says awkwardly. 'I'm being a prat.'

An unwilling giggle escapes me as I look up at him, and he smiles sheepishly.

'It's alright, I forgive you,' I say, smiling.

'Thanks. I know I'm an idiot for listening at the door, it's just…' He struggles to find words for a moment. 'I can't believe that there's just no way out for us!'

He sits back, putting his head in his hands.

'And it's not as if I have anything else to think about.' He looks up at me. 'Don't get me wrong, I know it's worse for you. At least… at least Bellatrix and Dolohov leave me alone. But it's crap having no-one to talk to. They just bring me food, take me out to the garden for exercise, and bring me down here to work.'

He sits up on his heels, his mouth thinning out. 'All I have to stop me from going mad is planning our escape. And I'm not going to give up yet.'

I wish I could be more like him. I wish I didn't always have complete and utter hopelessness weighing down on me. I'd do anything for the sweet hope that things might somehow get better, in the end.

If Ron has thoughts of escape to keep him sane, then what have I clinged to all this time in order to hold on to my sanity?

Ron. He's what I've held on for. If he wasn't here then I think I would have lost my mind as soon as Lucius locked me in the cellar and forced me to call myself Mudblood.

'Isn't there a way out through the garden?' I ask, even though I know what the answer will be.

He shakes his head. 'No. I've looked whenever I've been out there. I mean, they put a binding spell on me so I can't get far anyway, but as far as I can tell it's definitely underground, and there's no way of getting out.'

'I suppose if there was they wouldn't risk taking you out there in the first place.' I sigh.

'Yeah.' He trails off, his eyes fixed on some middle distance.

'Can you tell me more about it?' I ask. 'I mean, you were pretty vague when you told me about it before, and it doesn't look like I'll get to see it myself.'

It takes him a while to answer.

'It's kind of… dark,' he says eventually, his words slow and faltering. 'It's like it's always night time out there. It's really strange, because it's moonlit, but it _can't_ be moonlit because there's no sky. The light seems to come from… from inside the place itself, if that makes sense.'

I nod, even though it doesn't.

'There are…' he gestures with his hand, 'trees everywhere. The ground's covered with leaves. And there are… well, they're like ruins. You know, like the remains of old muggle abbons.'

'Do you mean _abbeys_?' I ask, smirking.

He grins and shakes his head, as if he's waking up from a dream.

'I'd love to go there,' I say, truthfully. 'It sounds beautiful.'

He frowns slightly. 'It is,' he says hesitantly. 'But it's… weird, as well. I don't know how to explain it. The atmosphere of the place is really… odd.'

He seems unable to voice his thoughts, and his eyes smoke over for a moment. But they clear again when they look at me.

'I'll try and get them to take you there,' he promises. 'Next time they take me down, I'll get them to take you with me.'

'No, don't,' I say quickly. 'I don't want you to get yourself into trouble. Maybe Lucius will take me down if I ask him.'

His eye twitches slightly before he picks up his cloth and slams it on the ground, scrubbing furiously.

'Ron?'

'This floor's fucking filthy. We're gonna be here forever.' He won't look at me, and his voice shakes slightly.

'Ron, I only meant that things between Lucius and I couldn't get much worse. Dolohov and Bellatrix mainly leave you alone, so there's no point in you looking for trouble with them. If I ask Lucius then he might punish me, but at least things can't-'

Footsteps.

Both our heads snap up.

Someone's coming. Not from the room where Lucius is, but from behind the other door.

We look at each other, nod, and then hurriedly start scrubbing at the floor.

The door creaks open, and I look up as far as I can without moving my head.

Draco steps into the room, a cold, malicious little smirk on his lips.

My stomach sinks down to my toes. What the hell does _he _want?

'Well, well, look what we have here.' He comes into the room, kicking the door shut behind him.

Ron's head twitches up, his cheeks going blotchy when he sees who it is. 'You!' he splutters. 'What are _you _doing here?'

Draco's eyes are glittering slits of malice. 'Didn't your little Mudblood friend tell you I was here?' he drawls.

Run turns to me with an accusatory look. 'Why didn't you tell me?'

'I didn't want to worry you. Besides, I didn't know he was actually _staying _here-'

'I wasn't, Granger, but I am now.' Draco grins. 'I asked my father if I could, and he said he didn't see the harm in it. So you'd better get that bushy head of yours down and work hard, hadn't you?'

Ron makes a sudden movement, but I grip onto his arm.

'Don't rise,' I mutter under my breath, 'it's what he wants, just don't rise.'

Draco has pulled his wand out of his robes and he's pointing it at Ron. His face is flushed and his grin shakes on his lips.

'Yes, that's right,' he says a little breathlessly. 'You need to do as I say now, Weasley. And god knows, it's been a long time coming. Now clean the floor.'

And ugly flush spreads across Ron's face. I reach across and gently squeeze his hand.

'Just ignore him, Ron. Come on.'

He shakes my hand away in his temper. He scrubs at the floor, his lips working around silent words of fury.

Draco laughs maliciously as he puts his wand away. 'What are you so upset about?' he drawls. 'I would have thought that vermin like your family should be used to house-work. I mean, it's not as if you could have afforded any house elves, is it?'

Ron doesn't look up from the floor, though his face is almost maroon with suppressed rage. 'Sod off, Malfoy.'

'You might want to watch your language. You are, after all, in the presence of your betters.'

Ron lifts his head to speak but I grip at his arm, digging my fingers in as a warning. He presses his lips together and goes back to washing the floor.

Draco looks almost disappointed at Ron's lack of reaction. I shake my head at him before I join Ron in his work.

A few moments of silence pass until Draco speaks again.

'Nice and obedient aren't you, Weasley?' He spits out his words with malice. 'I wonder, is your little sister as obedient as you are?'

Bingo.

Ron freezes and looks up just as I do into Draco's sneering face, alight with triumph now that he's succeeded in provoking Ron into a reaction.

'What do you mean?' Ron asks stiffly.

Draco grins. 'Oh come on, I think you know what I mean.' He stretches out his hands exaggeratedly, looking at his nails. 'Little Ginny's done a lot of growing up these past few years, and don't think I haven't noticed it-'

'Don't…' Ron can barely get his words out, and he shoves my hand away when I put it on his arm. 'Don't you _dare _go near my sister!'

The miserable little bastard just laughs in reply. 'And what are you going to do about it if I do? Your family have to do exactly as we say if they want you to stay alive. And that includes your pretty little sister-'

Ron moves so quickly and so suddenly that I'm not even aware of it until I see his bucket flying through the air, smacking the wall behind Draco, drenching him with water.

'Ron, NO!'

But he's already running, and before I can even get to my feet he's thrown his fist right into Draco's face.

'Ron, stop it!'

But he grabs Draco by the front of his robes and hits him again, and the pair of them are fighting, properly fighting, and Ron's hitting Draco and Draco's hitting Ron, and I don't know why Draco isn't using his wand, but I'm so glad he hasn't even thought about it because if he did Ron wouldn't stand a chance.

'Don't-' _Smack. _'Ever-' _Slam. _'Not my sister, you-'

'What is going _on_?'

I spin around to see Lucius standing in the now open doorway, looking only at me, as if he expects _me_ to answer his question.

Draco and Ron both ignore him. Or don't hear him. They just continue to hit each other with all their strength, kicking, yelling, punching.

Lucius moves his gaze onto the pair of them, his lip curling up in exasperation. 'Help me with this pair of idiots, will you?'

For a bizarre moment I think he's talking to me, but then he strides into the room and Bellatrix and Dolohov follow him in, shutting the door behind them on the intrigued faces of the remaining Death-Eaters in the adjoining room.

Lucius brings out his wand, and suddenly Draco and Ron are thrown away from each other and slammed onto the ground. They both groan as they try to shift themselves from the floor.

Lucius turns to me, one eyebrow raised. 'Would you care to tell me what's going on?'

I just stare at him, open mouthed.

Draco drags himself up from the ground, a beautiful bruise blossoming over his right eye. 'He threw his bucket of water at me!' he says furiously. 'The stupid bastard just went for me. I didn't do anything to provoke him, father-'

'That's bullshit and you know it, Malfoy!' Ron shouts, dragging himself up too. There's a stream of blood coming from his mouth.

'It's true, Ron's not lying.' Lucius' gaze slides back onto me as I speak up. 'He threatened… he said that he was going to blackmail Ginny into…'

I trail off, feeling myself blush. I can't talk to Lucius about that. It just puts so many unspoken things into the air.

But Lucius' mouth twitches into what looks like a smirk. 'Is that all?' He turns to his son. 'Draco, you should learn to take better control of your temper. If some idiot chooses to attack you, then that's exactly what your wand is for.'

A flush passes over Draco's face. Lucius ignores it and turns back to the door.

'Take Weasley back to his room, Antonin,' he throws over his shoulder. 'The Mudblood can finish cleaning this room by herself, I think-'

'Wait.' Bellatrix helps Draco to his feet, stroking his arm soothingly while looking at Lucius. 'Your son has been assaulted, Lucius. By a filthy blood traitor, no less. Surely that calls for punishment.'

Lucius turns back to her impatiently. 'Indeed, in normal circumstances it would. But the boy cannot be harmed, you know that.'

'Oh, I know that.' Bellatrix releases Draco's arm and walks over to me as she speaks. 'Believe me, I know that. But there's more than one way we can punish the boy.'

She grips onto my arm.

Oh, god. I know that I should be grateful, because at least this way she isn't hurting Ron, but… oh god, I'm just so sick of it all!

Lucius looks at me, his face strangely tight.

'NO!' Ron begins to yell, but Dolohov points his wand at him and magically lifts him into the air, slamming him against the wall and keeping him there with invisible bonds.

'DON'T TOUCH HER, YOU BASTARDS, JUST LEAVE HER ALONE!'

'_Silencio_!'

Dolohov's mutter cuts Ron's yells off.

Bellatrix raises her eyebrows at Lucius, her face alight with challenge. He frowns at her, then turns to Draco, who's watching the scene almost hungrily.

'You, out,' Lucius says shortly.

Draco turns indignantly to his father. 'Why can't I stay here? I want to see-'

'Are you questioning me?'

Draco's mouth closes like a trap and he shakes his head sullenly. He turns and storms out of the room.

'You too,' Lucius says to Dolohov, whose face twists with rage.

'I beg your pardon?'

'Out.' Lucius says threateningly. 'You are not needed here. The boy is immobile and the girl is unable to escape. Go back next door and attend to our guests.'

'And why should I do as _you_ say?' Dolohov's voice rises with rage.

Lucius regards him with a superior sneer. 'Because my standing outstrips your own, Antonin, as well you know.'

Dolohov glares at him murderously.

'No, I'm staying here.' Spit flies from his mouth as he speaks. 'I want to see if you can bear to bring yourself to harm your precious little Mudblood, seeing as you couldn't bear to let her go the other night.'

Lucius' fingers tighten around his wand although he doesn't raise it yet. 'I don't need to justify myself to scum like you,' he says quietly.

Dolohov blanches in rage and raises his wand.

'Oh get out, Antonin!' Bellatrix yells impatiently. 'This does not concern you. Go.'

Dolohov turns red with fury at the seeming loss of his ally, and with one last filthy look at Lucius he storms from the room, slamming the door shut behind him with such force that it shakes in it's doorframe.

Lucius and Bellatrix don't even watch him leave.

A long silence spreads out as Bellatrix's fingernails rip into my skin.

'This is unnecessary,' Lucius says coolly. 'The boy knows not to misbehave again.'

'Reluctant to hurt her, Lucius?' Bellatrix sneers at him. 'You _do_ surprise me.'

'Don't be ridiculous,' he snaps. 'The girl means nothing to me.'

'Then prove it!' she counters triumphantly. She flicks her wand in the air and catches a small knife in her hand, handing it over to Lucius before gripping me by the waist, holding one arm behind my back and the other out in front of me. 'Cut her.'

Ron struggles frantically against the bonds holding him to the wall. His mouth opens and closes as he screams at them silently.

My gaze moves back up to Lucius, who watches me with a frozen face. Someone who didn't know him would think that he was indifferent to the situation. Of course, someone who didn't know him wouldn't think to look into his eyes.

I don't know why he cares. When he last saw me he let his bloody son torture me for hours. He himself cast the cruciatus curse that threw me into unconsciousness and brought my memory back to me. Why does he care now?

Bellatrix's breathing is heavy on my cheek.

'If the girl means nothing to you, then prove it!' She rolls the sleeve of my robe up to expose my arm. 'Cut her.'

I look up at Lucius, begging him silently. His gaze meets mine, full of things I don't think even he understands.

Those eyes are bottomless. They're the one window to his true self. He keeps everything about him so calm, so composed almost all of the time. Those cold, bottomless eyes are the only things that ever, ever give me an idea of what he's really thinking. And I barely ever see them blank and empty, like I used to.

He presses his lips together firmly and he brings the knife to my arm. His face remains completely immobile as I mouth one tiny little word.

'_Please._'

A muscle goes in his jaw, and there's a sharp, searing pain in my arm. I look down. His fingers press the knife down into my skin, opening it, bringing blood up to the surface, and I don't make a single sound. I just move my gaze up again, and I look into his eyes and he looks into mine, the pair of us, as always, united by pain.

* * *

I pull myself out of the bath, wincing as the new wound on my arm threatens to open up again. I unwind the now soaked and useless bandage from it, looking at the deep, raw cut that isn't even on its way to healing yet. The white, ragged edges of it turn red as even now, hours and hours later, new droplets of blood rise to the surface of it.

No wonder he wouldn't even look at me as he brought me to my room after he'd done it.

He did bandage it up for me, though.

I haven't used the healing lotion, going against his muttered suggestion as he left. And I won't, ever. I want this cut to scar. Perhaps it might compensate for what I'm feeling inside.

I throw the bandage aside before pulling a towel down from the rail and wrapping it around myself. Picking up my lone, lit candle from the bathroom floor, I walk through to my bedroom and place it on my bedside table. Its dull, tiny light creates horrible shadows around my room, but any light is better than no light at all.

I pull on a plain white sleeveless robe. It's what I sleep in these days. It's too long to feel even remotely comfortable in, but I'm damned if I'm going to wear that white shirt I used to wear to sleep ever again.

I pick up the comb from my dressing table and pull it through my soaking wet hair. I suck in my breath as it pulls and tugs at the tangles, but I'm not going to complain about it. Any pain I inflict on myself is some measure of control I have over my body, over my own being.

The door bangs open behind me.

I spin around, the comb slipping from my fingers and dropping to the floor with a clatter.

Dolohov steps into the room, slamming the door shut behind him. His face is hard and flinty with rage as he stares at me.

A long silence spreads out as I shake under his horrible gaze, feeling my skin crawl with cockroaches.

_Say something. Get him talking._

'What do you want?' I ask shakily. Stupid bloody question, but what else can I say?

He laughs mirthlessly, his twisted face hard as he rakes his eyes over me.

'You know what I want.' He starts to stride over towards me. I swallow down the bile that rises in my throat.

'_Get out_!' I scramble across the room desperately but he's too fast for me. He grabs me by the waist and starts to drag me towards my bed. I scream furiously in absolute terror, flailing my arms and legs about as he wrenches me across the room. I scratch at his arms, but he won't let go, he's just too strong…

And so I scream the only name I think of.

'_Lucius! LUCIUS!_'

He stops dragging me but he keeps his vice-like grip around my waist, clamping a hand over my mouth, cutting my screams off as he holds me still for a moment.

'What do you need? Hmm?' His breath is wet and hot on my cheek. 'What is it you want him for?'

He throws me down to the ground. I fall on my front and I try to claw myself away from him but he grips at me, holding my legs down with his knees. I try to reach round my back to hit him but my shoulders burn with the pain of the angle of them. He laughs as he uses one hand to pin my wrists above my head and the other to push my head into the ground. Tears of pure fear roll down my face as my cheek presses painfully into the cold floor.

I'm almost paralysed with fear, but I force myself to speak.

'He'll kill you!' I scream desperately. 'He'll kill you as soon as I tell him-'

He grips me by the hair and wrenches my head up, whispering harshly into my ear. 'Oh yes, your almighty protector. Tell me, I'm curious - what exactly is going on between you and my _friend _Lucius? Because I know that he hasn't _fucked_ you yet, unless things have developed since I last looked into that penseive of his.'

'How do you know about that penseive?' I ask shakily.

He laughs a wild, mad laugh. 'You stupid bitch. Did you never wonder how it came to be in your room in the first place?'

'That was _you_?'

He laughs again and slams my head down on the floor. I begin to sob as he starts to wrench down the top of my robe.

'And don't even think about trying to call for him,' he hisses. 'He can't hear you. This is a big house, and when I left him he was at the other side of it. But when he comes up I'll make sure that he know that I've had his precious little Mudblood before he has.'

I tense my whole body up, trying so hard to force some magic out of me, but it feels like I'm pushing at a solid brick wall. Nothing will come, nothing will help me.

'Well do it then, you sick fuck!' I scream. 'But I'll tell him about it, and then he'll kill you. Maybe he'll even let me watch. And don't think I won't laugh-'

'SHUT UP!' he shouts, gripping me by the hair, almost wrenching it from my head. 'Do you think your laughter means anything to me? I'm well used to ridicule. And now, Lucius gives a Mudblood an excuse to mock me. Believe me, I'll show you just what true humiliation can be!'

'_Impedimenta!_'

The weight of him leaves me and I can breathe again, I'm free…

I spin over onto my back to see him fly away from me and smack into the wall behind him, crumpling down onto the ground.

I look at the door as I try to get my breath back, but I don't need to see him to know who it is. I knew as soon as I heard the incantation.

I don't know whether I've ever seen Lucius as angry as he looks now. Ever. His face is so contorted with white-hot fury that he barely looks human anymore.

He strides over to me and pulls me up to my feet, roughly grabbing me by the shoulders and shaking me hard as he looks into my eyes.

'What did he do?' he asks, his voice harsh. 'What did he do to you?'

'Nothing,' I gasp. 'Nothing. Thank-you, I-'

_Don't thank him!_

What else can I do?

We're snapped out of our eye contact when Dolohov groans as he pulls himself up from the ground.

Before I can register what's going on Lucius grips my hand in his and pulls me behind him.

Dolohov points his wand at us, laughing. 'Oh, very pretty,' he spits. 'If only the Dark Lord could see you now, Lucius. If only _Narcissa_ could see you now. Who would have ever thought that they'd see the day Lucius Malfoy would play the knight in shining armour to one of the filthy Mudbloods he so despises?'

'You will not touch her again,' Lucius says quietly, furiously.

'And let me guess why? Because I'm a pure blood, and a Mudblood cannot be touched, is that what you're going to say?' He throws back his head and laughs again, quite deranged. 'You're such a hypocrite. You can't even be honest with yourself. _Crucio!_'

'_Protego!_' Dolohov's spell rebounds away from us, and his face twists with rage.

'Good god, it's so pathetic!' he says, looking at me. 'Do you know what he's done to people like you before now? I've seen him torture and murder countess muggles just for sport. He uses them as practice for the dark arts! Do you remember the Rookwood case, Lucius? _Do you_?'

'What does it matter, Antonin?' Lucius' voice shakes with fury.

Dolohov smiles. 'A muggle she may have been, but Rookwood loved her,' her says, his eyes gleaming. 'You certainly didn't have to do what you did-'

'He understood, when I explained it to him,' Lucius says quietly.

'Ah, yes, the matter of the child. It's amazing how you can turn your prejudices around now, when in the not-so-distant past they allowed you to casually murder a pregnant muggle rather than allow any more half-blood brats populate the earth.'

Lucius' hand tightens around mine, as if he senses the horror that streaks through me, slashes though me.

'Why else do you think I am here to stop you?' His voice struggles to keep calm. 'I am here to prevent such an incident from occurring again.'

Dolohov laughs again. 'Do you really think I don't know what's going on?' he shouts. 'You came here for her, and only for her. Lucius Malfoy's little Mudblood toy-'

'SILENCE!' Lucius shouts suddenly. 'You will not accuse me of such things out of no more than sheer jealousy-'

'So why did you come up here tonight then?' Dolohov asks triumphantly. 'Why did you come here if not for her? I won't believe that you haven't even considered it before. I mean, look at her.'

Lucius doesn't look at me, but his grip on my hand tightens as Dolohov runs his eyes over me hungrily.

'So… innocent,' he says quietly. 'So pure. Not only that, but she's the one thing we're forbidden to have. It must be so tantalising for you, to know that she's sleeping, quite defenceless, in the room next to you. I wonder how you would have reacted if I would have managed to get my hands on her before you did-'

Lucius throws me to the side of him. I fling into the wall, tripping over my robe and falling to the ground, and before I've even hit the floor Lucius shoots a spell at Dolohov.

The pair of them start to duel; their wands a blur as red, green, purple and blue lights fly between, streaking through the air.

I crawl out of their way and I crouch in the corner, shaking and huddling in on myself as I watch the pair of them duck and doge around each other's spells.

I will myself not to want Lucius to win, wishing more than anything that I could hope that a jet of green light will hit him and take his life away.

But I can't hope for that. If he dies, then I'm left here with Dolohov. Surely Lucius is the lesser of two evils?

_Right. Keep telling yourself that. _

I crawl along the floor around the outside of the room, unseen by either of them. All they can see at this moment is each other and the spells that fly around the room. I claw my way along until I'm crouched right behind Dolohov, watching Lucius fighting.

I look at the intense fury and concentration on his face as his wand slashes, flicks and soars through the air, sending out multi-coloured lights at hundreds of miles per hour. And it's all for me. He came here tonight and he rescued me and now he's fighting someone who used to be his friend, for me, for me, oh, he'd do anything for me.

It's enough. I know what I have to do.

I leap up from the ground and I run forwards, throwing my arms around Dolohov's neck, using all of my weight and all of my strength to pull him backwards, to get him away from Lucius. He struggles, lashing out and wrenching his body round, but I somehow manage to hold firm, my body being thrown all over the place, but I can't let go, I can't let him win, I can't I can't I can't…

'_Avada Kedavra_!'

The green light flies towards us, making my hair stand on end.

My eyes snap shut.

_Oh god, oh god._

I fall backwards, Dolohov coming with me, both of us slamming to the ground…

His weight crushes down on top of me. Every bone and muscle in my body screams in protest.

I open my eyes.

Still alive.

I push Dolohov off of me with great effort and I scramble out from underneath him. Where's Lucius? I need to see him-

Yes, he's alive, too. He's looking down at Dolohov, his face very pale, his wand still tight in his hand.

I follow his gaze.

Dolohov lies sprawled on the ground, his eyes open and glassy.

He's dead.


	21. Our Secret

''_I was on the way to, at least, social salvation till I saw you again!' he said, freakishly shaking her as if she were a child. 'And why then have you tempted me? I was firm as a man could be till I saw those eyes and that mouth again - surely there never was such a maddening mouth since Eve's!' His voice sank, and a hot archness shot from his own black eyes. 'You temptress, Tess; you dear damned witch of Babylon--I could not resist you as soon as I met you again.'' – _Thomas Hardy,_ Tess of the D'Urbervilles_

_Alert – Take cover. This is not a drill. Repeat – this is not a drill._

* * *

Oh God.

Oh _God!_

I start to scream, bringing my hands up to my mouth and _screaming_ through my fingers as I look down at the silent, inanimate, dead person – body - _object _lying on the floor.

Oh god, oh god, _ohmygodohmygodohmygod-_

Hands. They land on my shoulders and spin me round, and I catch a glimpse of Lucius' furious face before his open palm flies across my face in a hard, powerful slap, once, twice, again and again.

'Shut up, you stupid Mudblood!' he hisses harshly. 'Just shut up and calm down!'

But I can't calm down. The reality of what we've done is crashing down on me in waves. I sputter words out in an attempt to make sense of it all.

'We killed him!' I scream, terror crushing my lungs, stopping my breath. 'We _killed _him! We're murderers!'

He throws his hand across my face in another slap before grabbing me by the shoulders, wrenching me up so I'm face to face with him as he shakes me. His face is white and harsh with fury and the same terror as I feel pulsing through my own veins right now.

'You didn't kill him – I did!' he whispers. 'And it was his own fault. He should not have come here tonight. He knew that it was forbidden.'

'But I helped you!' I start to sob out of the knowledge of what we've done. _Killer killer killer_. 'I made him unable to defend himself-'

'Would you rather that he had had his way?' he asks harshly, shaking me with every word. 'Would you rather that I had died in his stead, leaving you at his mercy?'

I gulp, and I shake my head. 'No.'

He nods, before letting go of me and striding over to the body and looking down at it, his face bloodless with definite fear. I've never seen him look as pale as he does now.

'We must act quickly,' he mutters before he turns to leave, walking towards the door. 'Wait here. I shall be back shortly.'

'What?' I yelp. 'Where are you going?'

'I need to go and see if there's any chance that my son or my sister-in-law heard what just happened.'

'No, wait!' I say desperately. 'Don't leave me here alone with… with him!'

He turns to me. 'Don't be such a child.' Every word drips with disdain. 'A dead body cannot harm you unless it has been transformed into an Inferi. There is nothing to fear from him now. Just wait here for me to return, and be sure not to make a sound until I do.'

He strides out of the door and shuts it quietly, locking it behind him.

I sit very still, hugging my knees to my chest. But there's no comfort to be had from it, besides, killers don't deserve comfort, do they?

I stare at the body on the floor, not taking my eyes off it for a second, terrified that… that… oh, I don't know.

_His _eyes are still open.

They stare at me. Open, glassy, wide. Accusing. They watch me, blaming me for killing him. I don't know whether it's just my mind playing tricks on me but he seems to be almost… grinning. I know that it's just my terrified mind twisting things, but I could swear that he's laughing at me, relishing the knowledge that he died with – that he was right about me and Lucius all along.

I can't stand it. I can't keep staring into those eyes.

But I don't want to look away from the body, either. I can't take my eyes off it, not for a moment.

I crawl over to the body, my shaking limbs barely able to support me. As I reach out to it I freeze, unable to touch it. I know it's stupid and it's only a body, but I can't… I can't touch it, not when I…

Not when I killed him.

_It was self defence. Besides, it wasn't you who cursed him._

But I held him back. I made him utterly defenceless to Lucius' attack.

_So would you have preferred Lucius to have died instead?_

No!

_I thought you said once that your greatest wish was to see him die._

But… but I…

I'm not going to start talking to myself, I refuse. I've still got my own mind, I hope.

I force myself to reach out and close Dolohov's open eyes. His skin is still warm, which is better than the icy-cold I was expecting.

I slide his eyelids down over his glassy, sightless eyes, shielding myself from his accusing gaze, before I back away from him, kicking myself back across the floor.

But having his eyes closed doesn't alter the fact that I killed him. Lucius and I murdered him together.

That's another thing I'll never forgive Lucius for. He's turned me into a murderer.

But then… he didn't _make_ me pull Dolohov back. I did that all by myself.

But I didn't have any choice!

_You had all the choice in the world. _

It's a long, agonising wait until the door swings open silently and Lucius steps back into the room, locking us in together with Dolohov's body. He turns and looks down at it, his pale face full of distaste as he takes in the sprawled, lifeless corpse.

I don't look at the body he's watching so intently. I just watch Lucius. I watch him as he looks calmly at the corpse of his friend, his colleague, a man he's just murdered.

What can I say to somebody like him at a moment like this?

_Thank-you for saving me._

_How could you just kill someone like that?_

_Don't you feel even a little bit bad about it?_

_Please tell me that I didn't help you do it. Please tell me that I'm not a killer._

_Please hold me. Hold me and tell me everything's going to be okay._

'What are we going to do?' is what I eventually _do _say.

He looks up at me, his eyes like stone.

'_Do_, Mudblood?'

His voice is flinty. I take a deep, juddering breath.

'What are we going to do about this?' I ask quietly. 'I mean, are you going to tell Voldemort what's happened?'

He just glares at me. He's looking at me as if he's never seen me properly until this moment in time. It's as if he's evaluating me; as if he's wondering just whether I am worth the price he has paid for me.

'You're more intelligent than that, surely,' he says eventually. 'Do you really think that I'm going to tell the Dark Lord that I have killed one of his loyal servants?'

I swallow and shake my head. He smirks joylessly before he looks down at Dolohov's body again.

'No,' he says quietly, more to himself than to me, I think. 'No. To tell the Dark Lord that I killed Antonin over nothing more than a piece of muggle filth would be an act of extreme foolishness.'

_Muggle filth. _The words pierce me; stab me in the heart.

'But then, if I were to lie to the Dark Lord and he were to discover that I'd lied to him, my life would be over in a heartbeat,' he mutters to himself, still looking down at Dolohov's body.

Oh god. Lucius… Voldemort is going to kill him when he finds out what's happened.

_Why do you care?_

I walk over to him slowly, not looking away from his face. It's so pale and full of concentration. In this moment he looks more afraid than I've ever seen him look before.

Seeing fear on his face isn't something I'm used to, especially to this degree. It almost makes him seem like a human being.

He looks up at me as I reach him, and he grins at me horribly.

'So, do you have any suggestions?' he asks, his voice brimming with laughter. 'Has Hogwarts' brightest student got a clever little plan to get us out of this scenario?'

I take a step back from him. One of the biggest things that's always scared me about him is how… _sane _he is, considering what he's done to me. But now his eyes gleam with something close to madness due to his fear.

He reaches out and grips at my wrist, drawing me closer to him in one sharp movement. He stares down at me as I start to shake in his grasp.

I hold my breath as he runs his wand gently down my cheek. The brief moment of hysteria in his eyes has subsided but he's still pale with fear. And who knows what fear of Voldemort could drive a person to?

I wish he'd let me go. I know that he blames me for all this. And he's right to, in a way, isn't he? It's me that caused all this mess.

'What would stop me from blaming _you_ for his death?' I gasp at his words, and a tiny smile creeps onto his lips as he looks at me intently. 'What would stop me from telling the Dark Lord that you somehow managed to grab hold of Dolohov's wand and turned it on him?'

I press my lips together. He still looks at me, his eyes slightly narrowed. He's not just toying with me here; he's actually seriously considering doing this.

'It would solve… everything,' he murmurs. 'His punishment would not extend to your murder, I am certain of that. You still have some use for him in his quest to capture Potter. Both of our lives would remain intact.'

His wand skates lightly up and down my cheek as he stares at me, his cold grey eyes intent, and I work myself up to speak.

'If you do that,' I say quietly, my voice shaking, 'then don't think I won't bring you down with me. I'll tell him it was you who did it, and I will tell him _why _you did it-'

He slaps me hard across the cheek. I bring my own hand up to cradle my face but he grips at my wrist, snatching it away from my cheek.

'Some might say,' he mutters, 'that you owe this to me. I saved you tonight. What would have stopped me from just walking away, and allowing Dolohov to do what he wanted with you?'

I don't dare to say what I'm thinking out loud.

'Besides,' he whispers as his wand trails slowly down my cheek, 'I need only to perform a memory charm, that's all. One simple memory charm, and you'll believe that you killed him yourself.' He breathes a laugh as my eyes widen. 'Oh yes, believe me, during my lifetime I've learned how to cover my tracks to the best effect. You need to make sure that every last angle is covered, so that absolutely nothing could possibly go wrong.'

'You can't,' I whisper.

'I can,' he interrupts me smoothly.

My indignation, my rage… my _disappointment _in him spill out of me then, and I shake with quiet anger as I speak.

'Well go on then, you coward,' I mutter venomously. 'Perform the memory charm; make me believe that I killed him myself. But first you will tell me why you will let me be tortured for your sake, but the thought of Dolohov getting his hands on me was so abhorrent to you that you chose to murder him before he could go any further.'

His smile disappears as his mouth thins out. 'You know why,' he says, his voice very still. 'A pureblood-'

'Cannot touch a Mudblood?' I breathe out a small, sceptical laugh. 'You still believe that, don't you? Well, Dolohov might have been the lowest sort of scum, but at least he was honest. You, Lucius… you can't even be honest with yourself, can you?'

His hand closes around my throat, cutting off all my air as his iron fingers crush my windpipe. I choke as I stare up into his pale, rage-filled face.

'Don't you _dare_ presume to know anything about me,' he mutters viciously.

My mind whirrs even as his fingers close in tighter.

_I know you better than anyone else does, and you know it. Just like how you know me better than anyone else... _

He sneers at me before he releases my throat. I stumble forward slightly, massaging my aching neck. He looks down at me before he turns to look down at Dolohov's body again.

'So,' he says quietly, 'you are averse to the idea of me allowing the blame to lie with you. But what else would you suggest we do?'

He looks at me, and I realise that he's actually asking me. He's actually asking _me _what we should do about this.

He must really be desperate.

I shake my head. 'I don't know.'

He smiles bitterly. 'I thought as much,' he says, before he turns back to the body. And I notice there's something about his face, something apart from the cold rage and the fear.

I look down at Dolohov's body. His eyes might be closed, but he still looks _alive_. There's colour in his face, and his expression is gloating, mocking, judging us from beyond the grave…

Christ, Jesus, God help me.

Without really thinking about what I'm doing, I slip my hand into Lucius'. His long fingers entwine around my own, and I feel slightly comforted, as if his grip could protect me from the horrible danger the pair of us are swimming in.

Both of us stare long and hard at the body, and I can feel a huge black fog settling over us – the enormity of what we've done.

I'm a killer.

If hell is real, then that's where I'm headed.

But I've already been to Hell.

I'm there already.

Couldn't I just let Voldemort believe that I did it? However he might punish me, it can't be anything I haven't been through before.

What would I be willing to go through for Lucius' sake?

_Come on, Hermione. You don't have to do this. There must be another way._

Long moments pass, and finally I begin to feel my mind working.

'Hide the body,' I say quietly.

He turns to me. 'What?'

I look into his eyes, and I whisper. 'Hide the body,' I say again. 'Get rid of it somehow. Tell Voldemort that Dolohov has deserted the Death-Eaters, and that on the evening he did it he was talking to you and Bellatrix about how sick he was of the life he was leading. You could perform a memory charm on Bellatrix so that she'll back your story up.'

He looks at me intently, his face perfectly still. But I can see his mind working furiously behind those cold eyes of his.

After a while, he nods stiffly.

'Yes,' he says quietly. 'Yes.'

He lets go of my hand and takes one more step towards the body, pausing for a moment before he flicks his wand at it. Thick ropes coil out of the end of his wand and wrap themselves around Dolohov's corpse, binding his limbs together.

Lucius looks down at the bound body with intense concentration. 'The lake,' he says quietly.

'What?' I whisper.

'I'll throw him in the lake,' he replies, quite calmly. 'The creatures that reside there will provide sufficient magical protection for the body, I should think.' He turns to me, looking at me steadily. 'I shall need some of your blood.'

I swallow, stepping back from him automatically. 'Why?'

He sneers. 'Do you have such a short memory? Do you not recall how those creatures reacted to you? If I splash him with some muggle's blood they will recognise the unclean substance, and they will drag him down to the very bottom of the lake. No one will ever find him.' He holds out his hand to me. 'Give me your arm.'

I hesitate only for a moment before I place my hand in his. He draws me over to the body on the floor before he uses his wand to carve a deep cut in my arm. I don't even gasp at the pain. I watch the blood run out of the valley he has created in my flesh, turn from blue to red in the open air, and trickle down off my skin, dripping onto the dead body on the floor. All for Lucius. All to keep him alive.

_Bleed for him, lie for him, kill for him._

Only tonight.

When enough blood has dripped down onto Dolohov's body Lucius magically seals up the wound on my arm before he lets go of me and flicks his wand at the body.

'_Locomotor Mortis!_'

The corpse rises up into the air, dangling there like a huge, horrible puppet.

It's grinning.

I shiver. Lucius turns to me.

'I shall return as soon as I have disposed of the body,' he says smoothly. 'We have some things we need to sort out.'

I nod, and he looks at me for a second before he walks towards the door, Dolohov's floating body following him like some sort of grotesque shadow.

'What are you going to do if Bellatrix or Draco see you?' I ask shakily.

He turns to me. 'You above all people should know just how useful a memory-wiping charm can be.'

I frown at him. 'You'd wipe your own son's memory?'

He smiles at me cynically. 'There are worse things I could do, Mudblood, as well you know,' he murmurs, before flicking his wand at the door. It opens, allowing him and Dolohov's floating corpse to leave the room before it closes quietly behind them.

* * *

When he eventually returns I find myself feeling something I never thought I'd feel – pleased that he's come back. The silence, the emptiness of the room were all becoming too much for me. Every shadow created by my lone, flickering candle looks like Dolohov's dark figure come back from the dead to get his revenge.

'Has he gone?' I ask shakily.

He raises one eyebrow, as if he finds what I've said amusing in some way. 'Such a child,' he murmurs.

I gulp, not knowing how to reply to that.

He shakes his head. 'Yes Mudblood, he's gone,' he drawls. 'The creatures dragged him down, just as I knew that they would.'

I sigh in sheer relief.

Dolohov's gone. I'll never have to put up with his snide remarks, or his nasty insinuations. I'll never have to worry about him sneaking into my room again…

But that doesn't change the fact that I'm a murderer.

I push that thought away, squash it down forever.

'So what now?' I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.

Lucius looks at me thoughtfully. 'Now I shall perform the memory charm on Bellatrix as you suggested. I shall tell the Dark Lord that Antonin decided to desert our ranks, and my _dear _sister-in-law shall support my story.'

Panic suddenly sets in on me as I realise a complication that I hadn't thought about until now.

'What if he performs legimilency on you?' I ask. 'He'll know that you're lying to him, and then what will you do?'

He smiles tightly. 'I _had _considered that possibility,' he says condescendingly. 'I'm not as slow on the uptake as you appear to be. That's why I have this.'

He brings a small glass vial out of his robes - a tiny little glass bottle with a cork stopper. He pulls the stopper out of it and brings his wand up to his temple.

A shining, silvery, almost liquid-like strand of memory flows out of his temple and attaches itself to his wand, which he drags away from his head, bringing the substance along with it. I watch, mesmerised, as he deposits the stuff in the bottle, where it spins and swirls like moving liquid.

I look up at him. He doesn't move his gaze from mine.

'Your turn, Mudblood.'

I gulp in alarm. 'What?'

He rolls his eyes with impatience. 'I need to take your memory of this night out of your mind in case the Dark Lord should question you, for, as we have already discovered, you are a particularly weak Occumelens.'

'But…' I don't really know what to say. There's no real argument I can make against this. It really would make sense just to let him do it. 'Will I still be able to remember everything, or will it be like you've wiped my memory?'

'No. If that were the case I would wipe your memory anyway, and seeing as you seem to be so averse to that idea, I think this option would be preferable.'

He reaches out and grips at my wrist, pulling me closer to him, his cruel, merciless fingers digging into my skin.

'I want you to think very hard about what happened this evening,' he mutters, his face close to mine as he brings his wand up to my temple. The cold tip of it touches my skin lightly. 'I want you to allow the memory of it to fill your mind.'

I look at him for a second before I close my eyes, thinking hard, remembering with all my might how Dolohov came into my room, how I thought there was no hope for me, and then Lucius, Lucius my tormentor, my protector, my saviour, killing Dolohov as I held him back, oh god, I'm going to be sick…

And then suddenly the tip of his wand leaves my head, and I open my eyes to see his wand pull a gleaming silver strand away from me and deposit it in the small vial he's holding. He puts the stopper in it and mine and Lucius' memories swirl about, trapped together in the bottle.

But… but it doesn't make any sense! How can I-

'Well?' he asks curtly.

'I don't feel any different.' My voice cracks with confusion. 'I can still remember everything that happened as clear as day.'

He nods, a small patronizing smile on his lips. 'That is exactly as it should be,' he murmurs. 'This technique does not completely remove the memory from your consciousness, but it makes it very difficult for even the most accomplished Legimilens to view it. As long as the Dark Lord does not discover this bottle of memories then our secret should be safe.'

_Our _secret?

Oh god.

He puts the small vial back in his robes.

So that's that, then.

What he's saying makes sense, I suppose. Or else why would he have put all his memories of me in that penseive of his…

God, I almost forgot.

'It was him, you know,' I say quietly. 'It was him who put your penseive in my room.'

He frowns at me. 'How can you possibly know that?'

'Because he told me. Tonight, he told me that he put the Penseive in here. So you see, I _didn't _steal it from you, just as I said that I didn't.'

His mouth twists, but he turns away before I have a chance to read his expression.

Damn him. I wish now more than ever that I could see his face.

He breathes out a bitter laugh, still without turning back to me.

'What a fool Antonin was,' he says quietly. 'What was he hoping to achieve, I wonder? Why was he willing to go so far, so _low_, for something so very unremarkable?'

Unremarkable?

Oh, thanks a bunch.

Without really thinking about what I'm doing I step forward, slowly approaching him, my bare feet barely making a noise on the cold floor. I don't know why, but I've got to see his face. I've got to know what he's thinking. I need to know if he's as confused, as _lonely _as I am.

I step up beside him, looking carefully up into his face. It looks as if it's carved of ice. His eyes are like chips of stone as they look out beyond everything, not seeing me but seeing only his own thoughts. His skin, so pale, so cold, is pulled tight with thought. Lucius Malfoy; murderer, monster, cold-hearted bastard. How are all of those things so carefully contained under this cold, unyielding mask he wears? It's as if he wears not only his Death-Eater's mask, but also this pale mask of skin, concealing the real person beneath it.

What is he made of, this man I'm locked up with?

Glass and ice. Poison and silver.

Flesh.

I lift up my hand, hesitating for a second before I force myself to reach up, slowly, and place my fingers on his cheek, feeling his skin underneath my finger-tips.

So warm, so _human._

His own hand snaps up and grips hard around my wrist as he turns to face me, holding my hand up and away from him, his face contorting with revulsion.

'What do you think you're doing?' he hisses.

'I…'

I don't know what to say.

There's nothing I _can _say.

What _was _I doing? Why was I trying to… to _touch_ him?

His fingernails bite into my wrist as his cold eyes run over my face, studying it. The anger ebbs away slowly as an intense concentration sets onto his features. Still he examines my face, looks at it as if it holds the secrets to everything he wants to know.

I shiver at the intensity of his gaze. I've never been on the receiving end of such a penetrating stare. It's as if it's stripping me naked of all protection – it's shedding me of my skin, leaving only an exposed skeleton.

I've seen looks on his face similar to this before. Never this intense, but certainly similar.

This must end now. That look… it's dangerous.

I wrench my hand out of his grip. He raises his eyebrows and a small smile creeps over his lips.

'It seems strange to me that Antonin should have been willing to risk so much just to touch you.' His smile slips away. He's far too close to me. I can't breathe and I can't think for his proximity. 'His reputation… his duty… neither of those things mattered to him in the end. He gave his life in his attempt to possess you, to take you away from me, to make you his own.'

He leans forward, coming closer, closer. I don't move, but I tip my head back slightly as he moves his face closer, closer, close enough to… to…

He sighs and turns away from me, taking steps forward to put distance between us once more.

I breathe again, trying to keep it slow and regulated.

I don't know, I just… don't know.

'You're just a Mudblood, after all,' he mutters, without turning back to face me. 'Just a plain, insignificant, insolent little Mudblood.'

I steel myself, refusing to show him when he turns just how much his words have hurt me.

But… I don't think his words are just intended for _me._

He turns back to face me. He looks… strange. His eyes are huge dark pools and they bore into me, drinking all of me in, sucking the life and soul out of me. Just like a Dementor.

Like a Dementor's kiss.

He steps towards me, coming close but not touching me. I don't move from where I'm standing.

'What's so special about you?' He steps around me, walking around the back of me. And now I can't see him, but I know that he's close. I can _feel _him as he stands behind me. His fast breathing brings up the hairs on the back of my neck.

I know I should move away from him; just step forwards and be out of his reach. But something keeps my feet rooted to the spot. I just can't move. All I know at this moment is his breathing on the back of my neck.

He steps up closer to me and I can _feel_ him. He's touching me now, with the whole of himself. I pull in my breath in a gasp as he curves his hand around my head and runs the back of his fingers oh-so-slowly down my cheek.

'Would it be so wrong just to touch you?' he whispers into my ear, his words fluttering across my cheek. He trails his fingers down onto my neck. Down, and then up again. Up and down my neck, his touch so light, so delicate I can barely feel it.

I want him to stop. I don't want him to play this game with me, it's not fair. Not after what's happened tonight, not after what he's just saved me from.

But who says it's a game anymore?

Who says it's _ever_ been a game?

No. It was a game once, I know it. But it's a game he's perhaps beginning to lose.

His hand moves down, down, his fingers trailing lightly over my breast. My robe might as well not be there, because I can feel his fingers as if they're touching my bare skin.

I suck in my breath. So does he.

'You are forbidden to me,' he murmurs in my ear, his fingers cupping my breast. I sink my teeth into my lip. 'Why is it that something I can hold in my arms, something so willing and obedient, can be so unattainable?'

How can I answer that question?

Does he _want _me to answer that question?

His hand slides down, further and further, slipping over my stomach and down, down.

I draw in a shaky gasp. His breathing is really too heavy.

What is he… I want him to…

I want him to leave. To go away and to leave me alone because I can't… I just can't cope with this. It's all too complicated. I want to go back to the time when all he felt for me was loathing and revulsion and all I felt for him was pure and utter hate.

At least things were simpler then.

'You will never be anyone's but mine.' His whisper is heavy and hot in my ear. 'You are mine and no-one else's, Hermione.'

_Hermione. _My name, again. It's only the second time he's ever called me by name… but it's like an arrow in the heart when he does. To hear my name coming from his lips pierces my soul.

His hand slides down further, sliding over the top of my robe.

No. I don't… I can't…

_Tell him to stop, then._

But…

_You would if you wanted him to._

But of course I… I…

His hand slithers down, and down, and… and suddenly he's touching me… touching me _there._

Just that. The slightest pressure through my robe.

But a sweet tension tightens my body, and I'm… I…

He lets his breath out in a rush. I close my eyes, glad that I can't see his face.

But then his fingers release, and they move… back up.

Breath brushes over my lips again.

His fingers move back up, up over my stomach and they rest firmly on my waist, holding me closer to him, if that's even possible.

I open my eyes again.

His other hand curves around my waist too and he turns me round to face him. And now I have to look at him, even though I don't want to. I don't want to know…

But I have to know.

His eyes look deeply into mine, his mouth slightly open as he leans in closer, closer, and I can't breathe, I just can't _breathe_, or think because he's too close, just too close, and I close my eyes because he's coming closer, closer…

Hip lips brush with mine, just for the briefest second, and something sharp and sweet skates through me, and I've leapt off of a cliff and my stomach and my mind are spinning in that brief moment just before I fall…

But he pulls away.

I open my eyes to look up into his, and I can see that they're clouded over, hazy.

'It cannot be,' he murmurs, before he pushes me away from him quickly. I trip over my own feet and I fall to the floor, my hip and my arms banging painfully on the ground as they take the brunt of my fall. I look up to see him looking down at me, his face suddenly full of rage and distaste.

'It will not be,' he mutters, his voice full of venomous resolve.

He turns, his cape flicking over me, and he walks towards the door, turning back to look at me for one final moment, his expression unreadable, before he opens the door, sweeping out of the room and locking it behind him.


	22. Trust Me

'MACBETH: _This is a sorry sight._ (looking on his hands)  
LADY MACBETH: _A foolish thought, to say a sorry sight._  
MACBETH: _There's one did laugh in his sleep, and one cried 'Murder!' That they did wake each other: I stood and heard them: But they did say their prayers, and address'd them again to sleep.  
_LADY MACBETH: _There are two lodged together._  
MACBETH: _One cried 'God bless us!' and 'Amen' the other; as they had seen me with these hangman's hands. Listening their fear, I could not say 'Amen,' when they did say 'God bless us!'  
_LADY MACBETH: _Consider it not so deeply._  
MACBETH: _But wherefore could I not pronounce 'Amen'? I had most need of blessing, and 'Amen' stuck in my throat.  
_LADY MACBETH: _These deeds must not be thought after these ways; so, it will make us mad._' – William Shakespeare,_ Macbeth_

* * *

Numbly, I pick myself up from the floor, staring at the closed door, wishing I could look right through the wood to see Lucius on the other side.

In the silence I hear a sharp banging noise, like something hitting a wall, before footsteps move swiftly away from my room.

Then there's silence.

In a daze I lift my hand up to my face, resting my fingers lightly on my lips.

They feel bruised, even though he barely touched me.

Everything's hazy. It's as if I'm surrounded by heavy mist. Nothing's clear. Nothing makes sense.

I force myself to move. I walk slowly across the room and I climb into my bed, and it's a long time before merciful sleep eases the endless tangle of my thoughts and emotions in compassionate darkness.

I dream of nothing. Of darkness, of wonderful emptiness.

* * *

It can't last forever, of course.

I drift into consciousness, the warm blanket of sleep slipping off of me and leaving me awake in the cold.

I open my eyes, and the blissful moments of unawareness sharpen up quickly, and I'm reminded of everything I want to forget. Dolohov's dead body, and Lucius' hands on my body, his lips on mine.

'You might want to get up. We need to talk.'

It's him. His voice… it's so cold, so clipped. Businesslike.

I sit up. He's standing on the other side of the room. His arms are folded and his face is stony. Businesslike.

I pull myself up from the bed, tripping over my blanket as I do so. I stumble to the ground, banging my knee painfully. He tuts impatiently.

'You still possess all the social graces of a drunken tramp, I see,' he drawls cruelly. 'Some things are beyond redemption, I suppose. Pick yourself up.'

How can he… how can he be so cold, after everything that happened when he last saw me? How can he just stand there and treat me as if nothing's changed since he first captured me, when really everything's been twisted and distorted and corrupted into something that doesn't make any sense, and _why _is he talking to me like that?

I pull myself up to my feet. He looks at me as if I am an associate of his from his Ministry days – calmly, coolly.

'I am here to update you on our _situation._' He says that last word delicately. His face gives nothing away. 'I have spoken to the Dark Lord. I have told him about Antonin's… defection. As much as it grieves me to admit it, it seems I have need to thank you.'

'Why?' I ask quietly.

'Your plan to use the memory charm on Bellatrix worked magnificently. If she had not been there to back my story up, I do not think he would have believed it. But by happy coincidence, it seems that Antonin had been acting mutinously for some time. He had been displeased by his lack of authority compared to Bellatrix and I, and it appears his voiced his discontent to the Dark Lord before his death.'

_His death. _The words trip so easily out of his mouth. Death. Not murder. Death.

There's no expression at all on his face.

Doesn't he _care_?

_He's a Death-Eater. He's an evil, foul excuse for a human being. Of course he doesn't care._

'He has no need to suspect you,' he goes on, 'and so it is my belief that he will not even consider questioning you about it. We are safe, Mudblood. You are safe.'

Just like that.

But I don't _feel_ safe. The entire situation reminds me of that game Jenga I used to play with my Dad when I was little – one false move and the whole thing would come crashing down.

'Well I'm glad you seem to think so!' My voice comes out angrier than I intend it to. I don't know why. I take a deep breath and try to calm down. 'Pardon my cynicism, but I'm not entirely sure whether to believe that he's not going to find out.'

He raises an eyebrow. 'Well, I could always take further steps in order to ensure you are protected. Would you like me to erase your memory for you? I'd be more than happy to do so.'

I take a deep breath, considering for a moment whether it would be so terrible.

But then… if he were to take the memory of that night away I wouldn't remember… what happened afterwards. And wouldn't that be just so convenient for him?

'No, don't,' I say with a sigh.

He grins bitterly. 'No. I thought that you would be averse to that idea. That's why I did not do it in the first place. It's a matter of _trust,_ don't you think?'

Trust.

I can't believe him, sometimes.

Most of the time.

All of the time.

'He cannot view the memory through legimilency,' he says calmly. 'And so even if he were to question you about it, you should be safe, as long as you keep your mouth shut. Believe me, it's a technique I've perfected in the past.'

He stops then, and I know why. Because it's that technique he's been using to keep what's going on between us two secret from Voldemort.

Whatever it _is _that'sgoing on between us two.

'And you really believe that this will keep us safe?'

He curls a sour smile. 'What other option do we have? I am confident that he believes my version of events, for it seems that luck is on our side. Antonin had been forever complaining about his lack of authority compared to Bellatrix and me. His vocal discontent has proved to be our good fortune. There's bitter irony for him.'

'Don't,' I say quietly.

He arches an eyebrow. 'Don't what?'

'He's dead. You shouldn't mock someone when they're dead.'

His face darkens with amusement. 'If he's dead then that means he's certainly not around to hear it, is he?'

I look at him, daring myself to say something, to ask him if he doesn't even feel the slightest bit bad about what he's done.

But I can't. Because I already know the answer. 'Remorse' isn't a word in the Malfoy dictionary.

Not that Dolohov deserves any respect, of course. But still…

'So what now?' I ask in the end, not really sure of what else to say.

'_Now _we keep our secret,' he says curtly, giving orders. He's used to that, I suppose. 'We don't say anything about the whole sorry business to anyone. Dolohov's replacement should arrive soon. It will be as if nothing has changed, except you will no longer have to sleep with one eye open.'

Won't I?

'Don't you even feel the slightest bit guilty about what we've done?' I say in desperation. 'We killed someone, Lucius. We're murderers!'

He points his wand at me and a stinging hex whips across my cheek. I reach up and I cradle the wound, tears stinging my eyes. And it's not the pain of the hex that's making me cry.

'_I _was already a _murderer, _Mudblood, in case you'd forgotten.'

No, of course I haven't forgotten. I think about it every damn day.

'Doesn't it keep you awake at night?' I whisper. 'Don't you ever have nightmares about the lives you've taken?'

'No,' he says bluntly. 'I would be a poor excuse for a Death-Eater if I did.'

I don't expect him to feel guilty about all those others, of course I don't. Not even my parents, even though at the time he seemed… it's the only time I've ever seen him act like remorse was a possibility for him.

But I would have thought he'd feel bad about this.

'But Dolohov was your _friend_, wasn't he?' I ask, determined to give it one final shot.

He pauses. 'Once, yes, he might have afforded that title,' he says quietly. 'But he forfeited his status as my friend when he decided to go against my wishes and risk polluting himself with a Mudblood. I do not have any wish to mix with people whose morals are so lax.'

Normal people's morals would concern what's right and what's wrong, the difference between the good way and the selfish way.

No, nothing like that for Lucius Malfoy.

'Who will Dolohov's replacement be?' I ask eventually, changing the subject.

'I think it will be Avery,' he says matter-of-factly. 'He's an old friend of mine. You may find him a less colourful character than Antonin was, but he's fastidious about his job. Quiet, but diligent.'

I gulp. I feel cold. There's just too much space between us, and he doesn't seem to want to come any closer. I feel exposed and alone.

'And Draco?' I ask.

His eyebrows knot into a small frown. 'Draco will remain here for the foreseeable future. The Ministry started to close in on the manor a few weeks ago, looking for him. It is not yet safe for him to return there.'

I feel numb as I ask my next question.

'And your wife?' It's a struggle for me to say the word.

His brow knots into a deeper frown. 'What about her?'

'Will she end up staying here too?' I ask coldly, as if it is of no consequence to me.

He looks at me for a long while, his eyes like chips of ice. 'No, I don't think so,' he says eventually. 'Someone needs to remain at the Manor to make sure that no light-fingered ministry officials take advantage of my absence. She is no Death-Eater; they should leave her in peace.'

'Isn't that a little optimistic?' I ask. 'She's married to a Death-Eater, the mother of a Death-Eater in training.'

_Why are you pushing for her to come here?_

I don't know… maybe her presence will remind him that… perhaps it'll help him keep his distance.

'What do you care if she's safe or not?' he asks, his voice run through with ice. 'You don't even know her.'

I stare at him. 'Surely any decent husband would want to know his wife was safe.'

Another burning streak rips across my face. He steps up to me slowly, holding his wand up at chest level.

'Don't push me, Mudblood; I'm in no mood for your jibes.'

'I'll do what I like!' I hiss, finally snapping. 'Do you think you can just come here and call me _Mudblood _and act all distant and cold when last night you-'

A huge invisible fist of iron smashes into my stomach. I double over, clinging at my ribs, pulling in my breath in huge gasps.

He tangles his hand in my hair and I'm pulled back, back, and slammed into the wall behind me, and electric bolts through my body but he holds me firmly to the wall, his hand pressed into my shoulder.

'Don't you _ever_ speak to me like that again, do you understand me?' he mutters, his face contorted with harsh fury.

I gulp, and I nod. He stares down into my eyes, his lip curling up with rage and distaste, before he turns on his heel, releasing me from the wall and striding from the room, slamming the door shut behind him.

* * *

'What do you reckon's happened to Dolohov?'

Ron's question freezes me for a second before I go back to polishing the silver candlestick I'm holding.

It's a disruption to the auto-pilot that's kept me going. I wake up, I do my tasks, I eat, I wash, I sleep. I wake up, I do my tasks, I eat, I wash, I sleep…

I have to keep my mind from what I did.

Almost more than that, I have to keep myself from caring too much that Lucius is avoiding me.

'I don't know,' I say, trying to keep my voice nonchalant. 'He's deserted, hasn't he? That's what I heard Lucius and Bellatrix saying.'

'Yeah, I heard that too.' Ron's face has curved itself into a small frown. 'But it seems odd, doesn't it? I mean, how did he get across the river without a member of the Black family to help him? The boat will only come for them, won't it?'

The world crashes around me for a second. Why didn't we think of that? Stupid, stupid, stupid.

I gulp, forcing myself to keep calm, and I improvise hastily. 'Well, the creatures in the water only go for muggles and Mudbloods, don't they?' I realise I'm gabbling, and I force myself to slow down. 'I suppose he could have swum across, and they probably wouldn't have hurt him. He's a pureblood, I remember him saying.'

The whole world seems to have frozen in the long moments Ron takes to think about my answer. Eventually he shivers and goes back to polishing the silver.

'I wouldn't fancy it,' is all he says, and I try to make my sigh of relief as in-audible as possible.

Long moments of silence pass. I polish the candlestick as hard as I can. I mustn't think about it. I won't think about it.

'Hermione?' Ron speaks a little hesitantly. 'Have you thought about… well, today I saw Malfoy reading the newspaper, and the date on the front… it was October.'

I expel a rush of breath. 'God,' is all I say. We've been here for… months, that means.

'Yeah, but… well, have you thought about…' Ron takes in a breath and lets it out again. 'Well, it means you've been eighteen for a while. Your birthday was last month, wasn't it?'

I drop the candlestick.

'Hermione?'

I burst into tears.

'Oh no, Hermione, I'm sorry.'

He pulls me into a hug and I sob all the harder. I can't help it. I turned eighteen and I didn't even realise. My first birthday as a prisoner. My first birthday as an orphan.

Probably my last birthday, full stop. I'm sure that I'm going to die before my next one.

A slight creak. I drag my head up and I look over Ron's shoulder to the source of it.

Lucius stands in the doorway. He watches the pair of us as I sob in Ron's arms. His cold, pale eyes stare down at us long and hard, locking onto my own, before he turns and walks away without saying a word.

* * *

Perhaps it's just easier not to speak at all if I can help it, then there's no danger of accidentally saying something incriminating.

And so I stay as quiet as I can, speaking only when it's necessary.

And when I'm on my own, I try to stop the fierce whirring of my thoughts. As I try to sleep every night, I desperately, desperately try to ignore the thoughts that fill my mind. Killer, murderer, evil evil evil.

My guilt never leaves me. It lies there in my mind, festering, rotting. It's like a cancer.

But thinking about what I've done is easier than allowing my thoughts to wander. If I let my thoughts wander, then they drag me down a path I can't follow.

Because memories keep on creeping into my mind. I remember Lucius' hands on my body. I remember his lips on mine.

Those thoughts are almost more dangerous and destructive than my thoughts about Dolohov. Lucius' hands have tortured me half to death. They murdered my parents.

And it's those hands I unwillingly remember the touch of as I fall asleep.

* * *

'Wake up! _Wake up!_'

Something sharp burns across my face, ripping me out of my sleep.

What… what? I only just got to bed, didn't I? I can't have been asleep for more than five minutes.

Blurred indistinct shapes dance before my eyes. I blink, and blink, and they clear and sharpen.

Another burn whips across my cheek, and I sit up in a hurry, my sleepiness making me sway slightly.

An iron grip closes round my arm and I'm wrenched up out of my bed. I stumble as my feet touch the ground, but I manage to keep my footing.

The hand drops abruptly from my arm.

I turn and I look at him, even though I know who it is anyway.

He looks strange, though. His face is hard, and a frown curls his brow.

I recognise the look. Fear.

'What's going on?' I ask, my heart sinking like a stone.

He doesn't answer my question.

'You need to get dressed.' He hands me the bundle of dark blue cloth he's carrying. 'Put that on.'

I grip at the dress, clutching it to me in a nervous reflex.

'Please…' I stop myself before I can lower myself to saying that word to him again. 'Can't I have a little privacy?'

'No,' he interrupts me, his face stony. 'Now hurry up! I don't think you quite understand the urgency of the situation. Hurry up and I won't give you a little reminder of just how effective the Cruciatus curse can be in enforcing obedience.'

The look on his face sends chunks of ice floating through my veins, and so I turn away from him, quickly.

I pull my sleeping robe off of my shoulders and let it drop to the floor, before I quickly pull my new robe over my head. I can feel his eyes boring into my back, and I try to ignore it, even though it fills me with so much humiliation I want the ground to open up and swallow me whole.

I lace up the front of the dress as best as I can with my shaking fingers, turning back to face him when I eventually get myself sorted out.

'Good,' he says quietly, without coming any closer. He'll be wanting to keep a safe distance, I suppose. 'Now listen carefully. The Dark Lord wants to see you.'

I go cold.

'Is it about Dolohov?' I breathe the words out, hardly able to speak for terror.

His mouth twists. 'I don't know,' he says quietly, his eyes dark with fear. 'He seemed convinced by my story about why Antonin went missing when I first spoke to him about it, especially considering that I had Bellatrix to back me up. But he arrived here with Bellatrix a moment ago and he told me that he wants to dine with you this evening. He said you could have half an hour to make yourself presentable. He didn't tell me why he wants to eat with you, and I did not press him on the matter. I have no intention to court disaster.'

I start to shake. Eat… with _Voldemort_?

'I'd rather eat glass than eat with him,' I say, without really thinking about my words.

His mouth curls up into an involuntary smile. 'Indeed, but I'm afraid you have little choice in the matter.' His face is suddenly grave again. 'You will tell him nothing, do you understand? He will not be able to see what happened through Legimilency, I saw to that when I removed the memory from you. Therefore, if Antonin's disappearance _is_ his reason for wanting to see you, it is entirely up to you to ensure that no matter what happens, no matter what he does to you, you do not give anything away. And try not to make eye-contact with him if you can help it.'

I gulp, and I nod. 'What if he uses Veriteserum to question me?' I ask shakily.

He smiles patronisingly. 'I had considered that possibility. Here.' He removes a small glass bottle from his robes and hands it to me, still being careful not to come too close. 'It contains the antidote to truth serum. Drink it.'

Without even considering it I drink the potion immediately, pouring the tasteless liquid down my throat before handing him back the empty bottle.

_Trust goes a long way, doesn't it? Once upon a time you would have died before you accepted anything from him._

I push that thought away.

And then there's just a long silence as the pair of us look at each other.

He watches me closely, looking for… I don't know what he's looking for.

I don't know what to say. I want to talk about what happened just after he killed Dolohov, but the mere thought of doing that makes my skin crawl. Besides, he obviously doesn't want to talk about it. That last time I mentioned it to him… I don't want to think about it.

And so I keep quiet. It's just another secret that I'll keep hidden in the dark recesses of my soul.

'Will you come with me?' I ask quietly. 'I don't want to go on my own.'

A muscle goes in his jaw. 'No,' he says coldly. 'The Dark Lord has specifically ordered that he shall dine with you _alone._ It would only raise suspicion if I were to request that I join the pair of you.'

My heart thuds against my ribs with fear. He stares at me long and hard, his brow lowered.

'You have nothing to fear, as long as you keep your wits about you and keep that mouth of yours shut.' He reaches out to me, looking for a moment as if he's going to take my hand, but he moves it up and grips at my arm instead. 'Now come along, he is waiting for you downstairs, and we cannot afford to try his patience.'

* * *

All too soon we arrive outside the dining-room door.

I look up at Lucius. His face is tense, rigid, as he stares down at me.

I'm… god, I wish he could come with me. What'll happen if Voldemort finds out what we've done?

'Remember what I said,' Lucius says quietly, before he knocks smartly on the door in front of him.

'Come,' a cold, high, awfully familiar voice calls.

Lucius pushes the door open, and I feel the slight pressure of his hand under my elbow, pushing me into the room.

The table in the middle of the room is empty, apart from the Penseive resting at the end of it. Sitting in the huge, carved chair next to the table is a tall figure swathed in a black cloak, his face covered by his dark hood.

Fingers brush against mine, ever so lightly, just for a second. I look up to see Lucius staring straight ahead, his face pale.

'Bring her here.' That cold voice makes me jump out of my skin.

Lucius' hand rests on the small of my back and pushes me forwards, further into the room until I reach the table.

A pale, spidery hand emerges from the cloak, making an imperious, waving gesture.

'Leave us.'

Lucius nods curtly and turns, leaving the room without looking at me once.

The door bangs behind me.

This huge, cavernous room suddenly seems cold and vast.

The spidery hands reach up and lower the hood of the robe. I force myself not to react as I see Voldemort's face, his lipless mouth drawn back into a horrible grin.

'Well, good evening, Miss Granger,' he says in that horrible cold rasp. 'And how are we today?'

Right. Okay, there's nothing potentially harmful in answering that.

'Fine,' I say stiffly. He smiles all the wider.

'I am pleased to hear it. Oh, but you must excuse my manners.' He gestures to the small wooden chair across the table from him. 'Please, sit.'

I take a deep breath and I step forwards. I can't give him an excuse to hurt me in any way. I need all my strength and all of my concentration to face him.

I sit down opposite him, clasping my hands together firmly in my lap and looking down at them resolutely.

'Would you care for something to eat?'

I chance a look up to find that the table is suddenly full of food.

I look at him. He's smiling at me, watching me expectantly.

I start to eat. I know that any hint of hesitation will tell him that I'm afraid of Veriteserum, and I need him to think that I've got nothing to fear in that respect.

I pile my plate with food, and my fork rises and falls rapidly in my shaking hands. I tear the food, rip it, gulp it down with nerves. I wash it all down with what looks like water, smells like water, but what I'm almost certain contains Veritaserum.

But it's okay. I trust Lucius.

Not that I trust him to help _me_, of course, but he's not going to let Voldemort know what he's done to Dolohov, is he?

No, I don't trust _him._

Voldemort watches me shovel food down my throat, barely chewing in my haste to act as if I am not afraid of anything. I have nothing to be afraid of. I have done nothing, and I have nothing to hide, nothing, nothing, nothing to fear.

'That will do.'

I stop immediately, slowly lowering my knife and fork. I look up at him, trying to keep my gaze level.

He smiles. 'Better?'

I've got to answer him. He'll be expecting me to, if he thinks I've taken Veritaserum.

'Yes,' I say quietly, levelly. He nods at me.

'Good.' He continues to stare at me. I try to stop myself from shaking. I can't let him know that I'm afraid. 'I'm not going to deny, Miss Granger, I did have an ulterior motive in inviting you to dine with me this evening.'

Does… does he expect an answer?

'I guessed that,' I say, just to be safe.

He smiles. 'You're very forthright, Hermione.' God, I hate hearing him say my name. 'I like that. It means we can work well together.'

I nod. I don't dare to do anything else.

He looks at me, his red eyes narrowed as they study me. But I can't feel him using legimilency on me yet. 'You flinched,' he says quietly. 'Why did you flinch when I called you Hermione?'

I take a deep breath. He'll want an answer to that, I'm sure.

'No-one really calls me that anymore,' I say levelly, truthfully. 'It's always Mudblood, or Muggle, something like that, but never Hermione.'

His eyebrows, or his lack of them, raise in surprise.

'So no-one calls you by name,' he says quietly. 'Not even Lucius?'

My heart stops and then starts again. I look into his red eyes, and I blink, just to be on the safe side.

'No. Never.'

His smile fades a little. I start to shake again, and I try to force my body to remain still.

'Do you want to know why I brought you here?' he asks.

Okay. Think. What answer would I actually give to that if I _had _taken Veriteserum?

'Only if you're not going to hurt me,' I whisper.

He laughs coldly. 'Oh no, I have no intention of _hurting _you,' he says quietly.

He points his wand at the other end of the table, and the Penseive comes flying towards us, landing neatly on the table.

'Would you care to look into the Penseive?' he asks.

'What will I see?' I ask hesitantly.

He smiles that horrible lipless smile. 'Place your hand in there and you shall discover the answer to your question.' His smile falls away. 'I shall wait here for your return.'

I lean forward, still looking up at him, and I know that I have no choice. Those horrible, merciless red eyes tell me that.

I lean further forward and I hesitantly place my fingertips into the mist.

An invisible hook pulls me forwards and I fall through silver fog. I feel contaminated, somehow, as I float through Voldemort's memories. God only knows what he's seen in his lifetime. I shouldn't be here, I really shouldn't be here…

I eventually land in a room I haven't been in for ages.

I'd almost forgotten just how horrible this place was. It makes me shake just to stand here.

_It's a memory. That's all it is. Just a memory. Now concentrate. You're here for a reason._

Voldemort is sitting in the huge throne with the stone snake rearing up behind it. He's surrounded by a group of about ten Death-Eaters, none of whom are wearing masks. Lucius is there, and so is Draco, along with Bellatrix and Narcissa Malfoy. But I can't see Dolohov. Mercifully, he seems to be absent.

'So, we are agreed it should not be the Weasley boy,' Voldemort says, his white, veiny forehead furrowed in thought. 'It's too risky. His home will be magically protected, and his brother's wedding will mean that most of the Order will probably be present. We do not have Death-Eaters to waste on a scheme that would work just as well if we were to use the Mudblood Granger.'

He pauses for a moment, and runs his eyes over the circle of Death-Eaters. Lucius looks almost bored. Draco, however, looks alight with excitement, his pale cheeks flushed with malicious joy at my impending capture.

'Although a supposedly talented young witch, at this point she should be at her own unguarded home, without any other wizards to protect her,' Voldemort continues. 'A lone Death-Eater would be able to bring her here. The question is; who should it be?'

Lucius' eyes slide over to look at his son, whose mouth opens slightly as if he wants to speak, but he closes it quickly, going slightly pink. Voldemort notices this, and a small smile spreads onto his lips.

'Draco, you expressed an interest, did you not?'

Draco's eyes light up, but his mother speaks up, her cold voice clear and calm.

'If you please, my Lord, I would rather someone else took charge of the girl. My son is simply too young-'

'I'm not a child, mother!' Draco hisses, blushing to the roots of his pale hair as a ripple of mocking laughter runs through the Death-Eaters.

'Well, Narcissa, who am I to deny a mother her wishes for her child?' Voldemort says. 'And I can see what you mean; Draco is far too young for this task. The girl will probably have to be tortured to get the information we need, and that will require someone a little more… seasoned. Someone experienced enough to keep a distance. Draco knows Granger far too well to disallow the possibility of a personal involvement.'

Draco opens his mouth to speak but Lucius reaches out and puts a hand on his shoulder, fixing him with a stern look of reproach. Draco shuts his mouth like a trap, shooting a look of deep resentment towards his mother, who keeps her gaze steadfastly on Voldemort.

Voldemort's eyes have slipped over to rest on Lucius, who has released his son's shoulder and now just looks distinctly bored again, as if he wishes this meeting could be over so that the extremely dull matter of my fate could be dealt with and he wouldn't have to hear about it again.

Voldemort smiles. 'Lucius?'

'My Lord?' Lucius replies coolly.

Voldemort smiles all the wider as he makes his decision. 'I want you to bring Hermione Granger to me within twenty-four hours, Lucius. I want her alive, and I want her mentally and physically well enough to respond positively to questioning. You are to inflict no permanent damage on her until she arrives here. Are my orders in any way unclear?'

Lucius' eyebrows raise and arch, betraying his surprise, but he bows low to Voldemort. 'No, my Lord. I shall bring her here as soon as I am able.'

The scene dissolves before my eyes and I float through mist and fog, floating and floating until I come to land in a room similar to the one I was just in, but slightly smaller.

The only people here are Lucius, who stands in the open doorway, and Voldemort, who sits in a grand chair by a large fireplace.

'How are you finding your Mudblood charge?' Voldemort asks.

Lucius laughs darkly. 'Arrogant, insolent, tedious beyond belief,' he drawls.

Voldemort laughs, although more heartily than Lucius does. 'So she does not have even one redeeming quality?'

'Just one. She's proving particularly easy to break. I am certain that it will not be long before I have all the information you require.'

'Good,' Voldemort says. 'But don't stop until you have every last bit of information, Lucius.'

'My Lord, I will not.' Lucius allows himself a little smile. 'It is always gratifying to see a Mudblood learn their place, after all. And by Merlin, this one needs to learn her place…'

The scene sinks away from me and all at once I'm in the great hall again.

But I'm there, this time. I mean the memory of me is there. And I'm cradling Ron in my arms on the floor, in the middle of a circle of Death Eaters.

Ron is staring up at Lucius, his bruised and bloody face pale with rage.

'If he dies… If he dies, I swear I'll-'

'You'll what?' Lucius cuts across him. 'What will you do, you stupid boy?'

I don't watch Ron stand up from the floor, stumbling slightly as the memory of me supports him. I just watch Lucius, smiling with hatred in his eyes as Voldemort laughs along with him at my friend.

He hated Ron, right from when he was first captured. At the time, I didn't understand why.

'SHUT UP!' Ron shouts. 'If my dad dies, I'll rip you apart, I swear-'

'You'll speak when spoken to, boy,' Lucius raises his wand. 'Crucio!'

No. No, there's no need to feel sick. It's over now. Ron is fine, and this memory is over and done.

'WHAT HAS HE DONE?' The memory of me is screaming, but Lucius only smiles as Ron bucks and writhes in agony on the ground. 'STOP IT, STOP IT!'

'_Enough_!' Voldemort's voice rings out.

'As you wish, my Lord.'

The memory of me rushes over to comfort Ron as Voldemort turns to Lucius.

'If anyone is going to administer punishment to the boy for speaking out of turn in front of me it shall be me, Lucius.' Voldemort's voice is lightly reprimanding.

'I am sorry my lord. I simply could not stand his impudence a minute longer.'

'Hmm.' Voldemort frowns at Lucius, and the scene fades away to be replaced by another. It's a room of black iron work – another one that I've been in before, but I'm not there, this time.

Voldemort sits in his throne with a thoughtful expression on his face, and… oh god, my stomach back flips. Dolohov stands next to him, muttering in a rapid undertone.

'He spends all of his time with her, every last moment. I'm telling you, there's something going on there. He finished his questioning of her days ago, and yet he still insists on spending all of his spare time with her. He claims that he is trying to teach her some humility, but-'

'I hear what you're saying, Antonin, but I'm afraid I cannot believe you,' Voldemort says calmly. 'I would not believe such a thing of Lucius. His devotion to the pure-blood cause is my main reason to be assured of his loyalty.'

Dolohov's lips thin out and a rebellious light comes into his eyes. 'I know that it would seem to be most unlike him to indulge in such perversity, what with her being a Mudblood and everything. But it's different with this girl. Usually he might as well leave his prisoners to die when he's finished with them, whether they're a Mudblood or not. But this girl has some kind of hold over him, I swear it.'

'Are you certain that this is not mere jealousy talking?' Voldemort sounds almost bored. 'I have heard stories about your own behaviour towards the girl. Both Lucius and Bella have told me about how you creep around her room night after night.'

Dolohov blanches. 'My lord, I seek only to tell you of what is going on under your very nose-'

Voldemort finally turns to face him, his face stony. 'Are you showing me disrespect?'

Fear creeps into Dolohov's eyes. He drops his gaze. 'No, my Lord. Forgive me.'

'Good. For I trust the word of Lucius above yours. Why should I trust a man whose urges are so base that he chooses to sully himself with Mudbloods over that of a man who has proved to be nothing short of fanatical when it comes to ridding the earth of them?'

'I have always been loyal to you!' Dolohov snaps. 'And when have I ever been rewarded for it?'

Voldemort rolls his eyes and flicks his wand at Dolohov. '_Crucio!_'

The scene, along with Dolohov's screams of agony, floats away from me, and I spin through yet more foggy memories before I come to land in a room similar to the one I was just in, only the lay-out of it is slightly different.

And Lucius is carrying me, and… Jesus, I look absolutely terrible. I'm covered with blood and cuts and bruises and burns. My hair sticks to my head with blood, and my eyes are just two slits in purple, swollen skin. My burned, blistering arms are curved up around Lucius' neck as he cradles me in his arms.

He looks ahead of him. I turn around to see Voldemort looking at the pair of us.

Only now do I realise how bad it looked. I didn't think at the time. Voldemort told Lucius he could kill me if he wanted, but instead Lucius decided not only to let me live, but to carry me home himself.

No, it doesn't look good at all.

'I gave you the opportunity to kill her because I wanted to see what you would do,' Voldemort says, his voice very quiet. 'Would you let the girl live, or would you kill her?'

'My Lord, you cannot question my loyalty-'

'This is not a question of loyalty. I have spoken with Antonin. He claims that your… conduct towards the girl has gone beyond the call of duty.'

I watch as Lucius' eyes widen, but he manages to keep the rest of his face firm. You wouldn't notice that his grip on me tightened, but I remember it doing so. Oh yes, I remember.

'My Lord, Antonin is a liar,' Lucius says smoothly. 'He is angry with me because I stopped him from forcing himself upon the girl. If anyone's conduct needs to be questioned then it is his.'

'Indeed.' Voldemort's smirk has disappeared, as I saw it do at the time. 'I shall question him most thoroughly, for my stance on that particular matter of warfare still remains intact. Do what you will with a witch, but a Mudblood woman cannot be touched.' His gaze flicks down to me, taking in the sight of me in his servant's arms. 'Do you understand me, Lucius?'

'I always have, my Lord.'

The scene swims and fades in front of me, and I fall through more mist and fog. When I land it's in the same room I just saw Dolohov and Voldemort in, but this time it's Lucius and Voldemort who are present. And Voldemort is no longer sitting down. He's storming around the room, obviously in a foul temper.

'DAMN HIM!' Voldemort is screaming, sounding almost insane with rage. 'Damn the boy to hell! I should have killed him in his cradle and yet _still _he eludes me!'

'My Lord, it was not your fault,' Lucius says firmly.

Voldemort turns to him with a look that could freeze lava. 'Of course it's not my fault. His feelings for his friends are obviously not as deep as we thought they were. He evidently does not much care whether she lives or not.'

Lucius nods, his face perfectly still.

'Nonetheless, the girl will have to die,' Voldemort says, almost wearily. 'Bring her to me. I want him to see it happen. I want him to know what his stupidity has cost him.'

A long silence spreads out. Lucius' face looks frozen. 'My Lord,' he says eventually, his voice quiet, 'forgive me, but wouldn't it be, ah, _prudent_ to allow the girl to live?'

Voldemort's face turns stony with fury. 'You dare to advise me?'

Lucius doesn't even flinch. 'Not at all. I was merely wondering whether she might still prove herself useful. I am convinced of Potter's loyalty to his friends. She could still be used to our advantage, I am sure of it.'

A long silence spreads out between them as Voldemort stares long and hard at Lucius.

'Very well,' Voldemort says eventually. Lucius' face relaxes a little. 'We will attempt to use her one last time. But if it does not work this time, then I will kill her myself.'

Lucius nods. Voldemort sits himself down in his throne, frowning in thought. 'We need to show Potter that we can do so much more than merely torture his friends.'

My heart feels as if it's being rubbed up and down a cheese-grater, because I know what's coming. I know what was ordered this night.

Voldemort sits for a long time, perfectly silent, until eventually a tiny, horrifying grin curls his lipless mouth.

'Potter needs to see not what his delay in obeying our orders has cost _him_, but what it has cost _her_.' He looks up at Lucius, whose face remains stiff and unyielding. 'I want you to dispose of her parents.'

Lucius pauses. 'Her parents?'

Voldemort smiles. 'Yes, Lucius, her parents. And I want you to do it. Tonight.'

Lucius' face remains unreadable. 'Me, my Lord?'

Voldemort's eyes narrow. 'Yes, you,' he says clearly, slowly. 'She is your prisoner, and so it is only natural that this duty should fall to you.'

Lucius' face gives nothing away, but he seems to be wavering. 'Master, I-'

'Do you refuse my orders?'

Lucius' lips thin out and he shakes his head. 'I do not, my Lord.'

Voldemort's horrible lipless mouth twists with malice. 'Because if you are so averse to the murder of the girl's parents, we could make things ten times simpler for everyone and just dispose of her. Or would that not sit comfortably with you?'

'Forgive me, but you misunderstand me,' Lucius says smoothly. 'I merely believe that it might be… practical to allow the girl to live.'

Voldemort looks at Lucius as if he's studying him, trying to work something out. 'Well then,' he says eventually, 'let us not waste time. Go. You will need to leave the bodies so that their murder can be made as public as possible, for Potter must know what has happened. And when you have finished the job, you will need to tell the girl what you have done.'

A muscle goes in Lucius' jaw. 'Does she _have_ to know about it?'

Voldemort looks at him incredulously. 'Of course she has to know. The whole point is that Potter needs to be aware that he has caused her suffering beyond endurance. If she is not aware of what has happened, then what will Potter have to feel guilty about? You must kill her parents, and then you must tell her of their deaths.'

Lucius looks as if he's about to say something to Voldemort for a moment, but he seems to think better of it. He bows low, and then turns to leave the room.

Voldemort laughs. 'There's no need to look at me like that, Lucius!' he calls after him. 'After all, surely it is fortunate that the task falls to you, rather than to a man with a conscience!'

Lucius pauses, his hand resting on the door handle, before he pushes the door open and leaves the room.

The scene melts away from me, but I don't even register it. I'm too lost in my own thoughts.

So now I know the truth. He didn't just kill my parents because he was ordered to. He killed my parents to save me.

But… no, it's all wrong! It doesn't change the fact that he murdered my parents in cold blood as they slept in their beds. His motive for doing it doesn't matter, does it?

Screams bring me back to where I am. Screams of pain and agony that I know all too well. The screams brought on by a Cruciatus curse.

But it's not me screaming this time.

We're still in the room of black ironwork, but things have changed. Voldemort is furious. His foul face is grotesquely twisted with rage as he points his wand at the dark, writhing mass on the floor.

'SORRY, LUCIUS?' Voldemort screams, sending another jet of green light towards the black bundle. 'SORRY? YOU DARE TO COME TO ME WITH YOUR PATHETIC EXCUSES? YOU DARE TO OFFER ME YOUR TRITE APOLOGIES WHEN YOU LET POTTER ESCAPE SO THAT YOU COULD SALVAGE A WORTHLESS MUDBLOOD? SORRY? SORRY? _SORRY ISN'T GOOD ENOUGH!_'

Another stream of green light flies out of the end of Voldemort's wand and hits Lucius, who screams and bucks and writhes as the curse racks through his body. All for me. All because he went after me rather than Harry.

The curse leaves him and he lies sprawled on the ground, his usual elegance completely abandoning him as he breathes harshly.

His lifts his head and stares up at Voldemort. A small stream of blood escapes his lips. His eyes are webbed with pain.

Voldemort stares down at him, his rage almost palpable, even though we're only in a memory.

'I hope the little Mudblood is worth it, Lucius,' is all he says.

And then an invisible hook pulls at my back and I'm being dragged up, and up, through mist and fog and everything's a blur as I fly backwards, up and up…

I slam back into my seat, breathless and disorientated. I lean forward and rest my hands on the table in front of me, trying to get my breath back.

I lift my head up slowly and I look across the table. Voldemort is watching me, his eyes narrow slits.

'I believe you'll understand when I tell you that what you just saw has been a worry of mine for some time now.'

His voice is cold, and very still. He's angry, I think. I don't know – I don't really know him.

But I can breathe a little easier, at least. He doesn't think I know anything about Dolohov's disappearance. No, he wants to know what's going on between me and Lucius. He suspects something, just like Bellatrix does, just like Dolohov did.

But nothing_ is_ going on – not really. So I don't have to worry.

Right?

Voldemort rests his hands on the table in front of him. I lean backwards slightly. His red eyes bore into me, but I can't feel the invisible hand of legimilency roaming through my mind, thank god.

'At first, I thought nothing of it,' Voldemort whispers. 'It often occurs that a bond can be created between a prisoner and a captive. It has happened amongst my Death-Eaters before, and it will happen again.' His eyes darken. 'But when he went against my specific instructions; when he went after you rather than Potter at the Weasley's home, that was when I knew things had gone too far. When a loyal Death Eater ignores my orders in order to keep a Mudblood prisoner close to them, then I know that something is very wrong indeed.'

He pauses, watching me for a reaction. I school my face into an expression of puzzlement.

'Bellatrix and Antonin have both voiced their opinions to me about the pair of you,' he goes on. 'At first, I put their suspicions down to jealousy. Antonin wanted to get his hands on you from the moment of your capture, and Bellatrix… well, let's just say she has her own reasons to resent whatever relationship the pair of you have with each-other.'

That gives me pause. I didn't know that even Voldemort knew about Bellatrix and Lucius.

'Tell me,' he leans further forward in his chair, 'what is there between the pair of you?'

I gulp, and I force myself to keep on breathing.

'I don't know what you're talking about,' I say, infuriated at the slight squeak in my voice.

He smiles. 'Does it need spelling out, girl? Lucius told me you were intelligent.' He sits back in his chair, staring at me. 'Tell me how the pair of you interact with each other.'

I take a deep breath, my heart racing, banging against my ribs. _Thud thud thud. _Keep it calm, keep it steady.

'Well, at first he tortured me,' I say, trying to keep my voice monotonous. 'You know that. He needed to get information out of me, and he chose to torture me to get it. But ever since we moved here he's pretty much left me alone. He only ever sees me when he brings me downstairs to clean the house, or when he brings me my food. That's all.'

His eyes are red slits of suspicion. 'Nothing else?' he says eventually. 'You do not interact in any other way?'

I know what he's asking. And so the answer I give isn't really a lie.

Not really.

'No, we don't,' I say steadily. 'He barely even speaks to me.'

His face relaxes slightly, and he brings his hand up to his chin as he studies me thoughtfully.

'I must assume you are telling the truth,' he murmurs, before he leans forward again. 'But tell me, Hermione, don't you fear him?'

I nod. I can answer that question truthfully. 'Yes, of course, after everything he did to me when I was first captured.'

'No, you misunderstand me. What I mean is, do you fear him as a man?'

I pause for a second. How can I answer that question, when I don't really know the answer myself?

'No,' I say clearly. 'I quickly realised when I was captured that my Mudblood status keeps me safe in _that _respect, especially in Lucius' case. The only thing he feels for me is hate, I'm certain of it.'

He looks at me for a few seconds before he smiles. Evidently, he's pleased with my answer. Perhaps not completely reassured, but I think he's realised now that nothing's really going on.

_He's swallowed your lies, then._

He stands up and walks slowly around the table, eventually coming to stand next to my chair, looking down at me.

It takes all of my willpower not to recoil in my seat.

'So, you do not fear Lucius,' he says quietly, looking down into my face intently. 'Then what do you fear, Hermione?'

He thinks I've taken Veriteserum. I need to give him an answer. But I'm not going to give him the one I really believe. If I were to tell him what my real greatest fear was then he'd know everything he ever wanted to know about me and Lucius.

'Death,' is all I say. 'I'm very afraid to die.'

It's such a basic answer, and it's not really one I believe. Perhaps I did once, yes, but since I've been captured I've learned that Dumbledore was telling Harry the truth for all those years – there are so many things in this life that are worse than death.

But Voldemort smiles, and it's like he's smiling in sympathy. He might believe that we've got something in common here. He created the horcruxes, after all.

'Well, you are safe for the foreseeable future,' he says quietly. 'Lucius has seen to that. You would be dead several times over if it were not for his intervention.' He smiles at me horribly, as if he's conspiring with me in some way. 'Surely you cannot blame me for harbouring suspicions about the pair of you.'

I swallow. My throat is dry with fear as I tread over such dangerous ground. 'I suppose not.'

He nods. 'Well then, I believe we have finished here for today. You may stand.'

He steps back from me and I stand up quickly, eager to get out of here and away from him as quickly as possible.

He walks over to the door and motions for me to follow him. I do so, but he pauses before he opens the door.

'But tell me,' he whispers, coming really quite close to me. I feel sick at his proximity. 'You say that Lucius hates you. Could you tell me why?'

I feel like I've just been pushed off a cliff. I have nothing to cling on to to help me from plunging to my death.

I say all that I can say. I give the most basic reason I could give.

'He hates me because I'm a Mudblood,' I say simply. 'That's what it all boils down to, isn't it?'

He breathes out a tiny laugh. 'Ah, Hermione,' he says quietly. 'Can't you see that the thing he hates the most in you is your pride? Your pride of what you are condemns you in his eyes.'

He opens the door to reveal Lucius in the corridor, his face frozen, his eyes like chips of stone.

'Take the Mudblood back to her room, Lucius,' Voldemort says curtly. 'I have finished with her.' He turns to me, smiling. 'Thank you for your company, Hermione. It has proved most… illuminating.'

I nod at him and I step towards Lucius, my legs shaking. My legs almost give way in sheer relief as the door shuts behind me.

Lucius looks down at me, his eyebrow raised in a question. Shakily, I give him the tiniest of smiles. His face visibly relaxes, but he does not smile in return. He just nods before he grabs me by the arm and drags me up to my room.


	23. Losing my Innocence

'_I had played a game in which every move was governed by a destiny as oppressive and omnipotent as himself, since that destiny was himself; and I had lost. Lost at that charade of innocence and vice in which he had engaged me. Lost as the victim loses to the executioner.' – _Angela Carter,_ The Bloody Chamber_

* * *

If you'd have asked me a few months ago if Death-Eaters ever had dinner parties, I would have probably laughed at you.

But it turns out that it's true. That's how messed up their lives are. They murder and torture by day, and in the evenings sometimes they like to get together for a nice meal.

It's true, although I would have never believed it. I'm serving at one right now, thanks to bloody Bellatrix and her _suggestion_ that Ron and I serve them their food. She even wanted to dress us in oversized pillow-cases, just like the house-elves, but fortunately that idea was overruled on the grounds of it being a little too ridiculous, thank god. I don't think I could handle serving these people, let alone Lucius, in an oversized pillow-case.

We haven't cooked the food ourselves, of course. Not only do they not trust us with knives, but I also don't think they relish the idea of having us spit in their food, which, to be honest, is what we would probably do. No, the house-elves have cooked the food, but we've laid it out for them.

'Jesus, these are bloody heavy,' he hisses to me, shifting the weight of the giant wine jar he's holding from one arm to the other. He's in a rage this evening, which isn't really anything new these days. He's always had a temper on him, but during our captivity it has multiplied and developed like a cancer. He's become a bitter, angry young man, very different from the fun-loving boy I once knew.

But then, I'm not the girl he once knew, either. I'm no longer the young girl whose boggart was Professor McGonagall telling me I'd failed all my exams. I no longer know what my boggart would be, and I don't want to know. I've become afraid of everything, even my own shadow.

We stand side by side in a dark corner of the dining room, our arms aching with the weight of the jugs, waiting with baited breath for a call for more wine.

'Bloody ridiculous,' he whispers. 'And it's bloody unfair, too. It's exhausting, all this work. I'm starting to realise what you were going on about with S.P.E.W all these years. Poor little buggers haven't exactly got it easy, have they?'

I allow myself a tiny smile.

'I'm fucking starving,' he murmurs. 'When did you last eat?'

'I don't know. This morning, maybe?'

'I haven't had anything since last night.'

'Perhaps we'll be able to have some leftovers,' I whisper as my stomach rumbles painfully at the smell of the food.

'Yeah,' he mutters. 'We'll have to be careful about it though. I've got pockets in these robes, maybe-'

'More wine!' Bellatrix calls out. 'Come along, we don't have all evening.'

Ron draws in his breath in irritation, and the pair of us step forwards. My arms shake with the weight of the jug. There's no rest for us. Even as I pour the wine, the jug refills itself steadily.

Ron moves to one end of the table, while I move to the other, and the pair of us move down along the row of guests, filling their goblets with wine.

There's a few Death-Eaters I think recognise. There's that awful Macnair, who thankfully ignores me, and I pass a couple of fat, short Death-Eaters I think I recognise from the battle on the night Dumbledore died. Then there's a group of about three men who look suspiciously like Crabbe, Goyle, and Theodore Nott. The three of them huddle together, holding a murmured conversation, looking a lot like who I imagine are their sons.

I slide my gaze up to the other end of the table to watch Ron, who's in the middle of pouring some wine out for a dark-haired, handsome man sitting on Bellatrix's right. The way he looks at Ron calmly, with no expression whatsoever, as if he is merely taking mental notes on what he's seeing, makes me almost certain that this is Avery - the quiet, ruthless man Lucius told me would be replacing the man the pair of us murdered.

Perhaps this is his first night here. Perhaps this whole dinner party's being held to celebrate his arrival.

Avery's cold blue gaze moves up to meet mine. His calm expression doesn't alter as he stares at me, but he leans over and whispers something in Bellatrix's ear, who looks up at me and giggles at whatever he's said. Feeling myself blush, I hurriedly lower my head and move on to the next goblet along the table, not realising whose it is until-

'I daresay, Granger, that you've never had the opportunity to drink wine this good, have you?' Draco drawls. Damn it, I didn't realise he was sitting at this end of the table. I haven't been paying attention to who's sitting where, really. A muggle such as yourself would only be used to Plonk, am I right?'

'Draco,' a cold, female voice interrupts him, 'don't be so childish. The Mudblood should be beneath your notice. Leave her be.'

Gratified despite the rude dismissal she's given me, I chance a look up at the woman who's spoken, immediately wishing I hadn't as I recognise her.

Narcissa Malfoy.

I gulp as I look at her, sitting in between her son and her husband. I can see Lucius looking at me too, out of the corner of my eye, but for the moment all I can really register is her.

She's so… beautiful. So pale, with hair as white-blonde as her husband's, and eyes just as cold.

'Do you have something to say, Mudblood?' she asks coolly.

I shake my head and hurriedly pour her wine, taking care not to look up at her. I feel all wrong. Dirty. My skin crawls with guilt, as if I've betrayed her in some way. Which I haven't, not really.

_Haven't you?_

'You stupid boy, you've spilt it all over me!'

I turn around just in time to see Bellatrix slap Ron hard across the face. His cheek blooms red with the blow.

'Look at my robe! Just look at it!' Bellatrix yells as silence falls over the room. She holds out her sleeve, showing him a non-existent stain. 'It'll never come out, don't you realise?'

A long, ringing silence spreads out through the room, before Ron pulls back his arms and throws the wine jug he's holding at the wall to the side of him. It crashes against the wall, smashing into a thousand pieces, and the wine it once held runs like blood down the stone wall.

'I am _not_ your slave!' His face is red as he shouts at a stunned Bellatrix in sheer fury. '_We _are not your slaves, you _bitch_! Pour your own damn wine!'

Bellatrix starts to rise up from her chair, but Avery puts his hand on her arm and rises calmly from his own.

I look back up at Ron, whose rage ebbs away to be replaced by fear on account of Avery's height and raised wand. He's a tall man – almost as tall as Lucius.

'What did you call her?' Avery asks quietly.

Ron presses his lips together before he speaks again. 'I called her a bitch,' he says firmly. 'Which is what she is – you can't deny it.'

Avery doesn't smile like Lucius does whenever Ron gives him an excuse to punish him in some way. No, Avery just looks at Ron appraisingly. This is obviously a man who misses nothing – one who takes everything into account.

'You need to learn your place, boy,' he murmurs. 'The social scale stands as follows – at the top, we have pureblood witches and wizards. Below them are the blood traitors, scum such as yourself who do not know where their loyalties lie. Below _them_ lie the useless muggles, and below _them_ lie the Mudbloods; abominations such as your friend over there.' He moves his gaze over to me for a second, before he moves it back on to Ron. 'The natural order of wizarding society dictates that the pair of you are below us in every way, and therefore it is only right that you should serve us.'

Without looking away from Ron, Avery turns his wand on me.

'I know that _you_ cannot be harmed, boy,' he says quietly. 'But your friend can, isn't that right? Or is your notion that you are somehow entitled to personal freedom stronger than your _love _for her?'

Bellatrix lets out a crow of triumphant laughter as Ron's face goes slightly green with fear.

'No,' he stammers. 'Don't-'

'Well, then,' Avery finishes smoothly, 'please continue with your task as instructed.'

He flicks his wand at the table in front of him, and another large jug of wine identical to the one Ron just destroyed appears in front of him.

Ron presses his lips together for a moment before he picks up the jug and goes back to his task, filling Avery's goblet silently.

I look at Avery for a few seconds as he sits down and goes back to his conversation with Bellatrix. He frightens me. It's no wonder Lucius said he's a good friend of his – the two are so very similar, really.

But _not_, somehow. At least I know Lucius, and what to expect from him.

I don't look up as I turn around, moving onto the next goblet after Narcissa's. Lucius' goblet.

'Your friend seems to be somewhat abashed, Mudblood,' Lucius murmurs, but I don't look up at him. 'Perhaps he might yet learn his place as you have, hmm?'

My cheeks burn, but I don't look at him. I can feel his eyes on me, burning into me. The jug shakes in my grasp, but somehow miraculously the wine pours cleanly into the goblet. My heart beats furiously against my ribs, bruising them, breaking them.

I chance a look up, just for a second. His cold grey eyes rest on mine.

He reaches forwards to take hold of his goblet, and as he does his hand brushes against mine, just for a second. The touch of it sends an electric shock through me, and before I know what I've done I've stepped backwards and the wine-jug's slipped from my grasp and it falls to the ground, smashing on the floor.

Silence falls over the room. Everyone's staring at me. Ron's looking absolutely terrified on my behalf.

I turn back to Lucius, shaking with fear. His expression is hard.

'Good god, we'll have no jugs left, by the time the evening's through-' Bellatrix starts, but trails off as Lucius stands up and walks around the table, gripping me by the arm when he reaches me.

'Don't worry yourselves,' he says to the rest of the room. 'The muggle is incapable of carrying out the simplest tasks unaided, including, it seems, pouring out a goblet of wine.'

A ripple of laughter runs through the dinner guests as Lucius drags me over to a dark corner. He sits me down on a bench against the wall, and it's so dark over here that I can't see his expression as he looks down at me.

'Now, I want you to stay here, and to try not to make a fool of yourself again.' He pauses. 'Can you do that for me?'

I look up at him, not really knowing what to say, and so I nod.

He looks down at me for a second before he turns and walks back over to the table, flicking his wand at the mess I've created on the ground, vanishing it.

He sits himself down and turns to his wife, rejoining his conversation with her.

I can hardly bear to look at them. They're just so perfect in their icy similarity. You couldn't find two people so compatible in every way.

I just muck things up, really. Oh, he might have cheated on her with Bellatrix, but she seems oblivious enough to it. They seem… happy, I suppose, in their own way.

I don't get it. What's going on between Lucius and me if he's content enough in his marriage, and he hates me so much that he can hardly bear to touch me?

I don't understand. I never understand anything anymore. I'm so sick of it all.

Well, at least I'm hidden in shadow. And even if I wasn't hidden, no-one would be taking any notice of me, anyway. I can watch them all I want, and no-one can see me do it.

I look down at the wine. Who would know if I had just a little sip? Perhaps it'll numb the pain. Isn't that why alcoholics drink?

Cautiously, unseen by anyone, I lift the jug up to my mouth and I start to gulp down the rich, sharp liquid.

* * *

'Wine!' Bellatrix calls out, slurring slightly. 'Damn you, you lazy little Mudblood, where are you?'

Yes, it's my turn. Ron's been sent through to the adjoining room to fetch their desserts, so it's only me that can do it. Perhaps I shouldn't have had anything to drink, but it's alright, they'll never know, the wine jug's still full to the brim… god, how much have I drunk?

I stumble slightly as I stand up, spilling some wine on the floor, but it's alright, the jug refills itself. Good. They'll never know. As long as I walk straight and I act normal things will be fine, absolutely fine, and perhaps I'll get away with it.

But I've got to admit, things would be a lot easier if the room would stop spinning around me.

Right. One foot in front of the other. Left, right, left… that's it, I've got it.

I walk back out into the room, moving slowly but steadily, yes, steadily over to the table. Bellatrix is talking loudly to Avery. I look at Lucius. He's looking distinctly bored, and he rolls his eyes at what she's saying.

I pause, standing in front of the table, waiting to see who wants wine and who doesn't, but no-one seems to be paying me any attention.

'So you see, it makes more sense not to focus only on important muggles, but to concentrate on removing every last one from the face of the earth.' Bellatrix is smiling, her breath coming shortly as she speaks. 'That is the only way that we can be sure of victory-'

'I hear what you're saying, Bella,' Avery interrupts quietly. 'And I agree that all Mudbloods should certainly be disposed of. But surely it would be of use to keep some _muggles_ alive? After all, what is the use of seizing power if we have no-one to rule over?'

'I quite agree, Avery,' Narcissa adds in her clear voice.

Bellatrix's cheeks pinprick with red. 'Well, Lucius agrees with me, I am sure.' She turns to him. 'Don't you think, Lucius, that I am right in this matter?'

Lucius looks at her as if he's never seen her before. He's looking at her like she's a frivolous item he brought for a lot of money on a whim, before he discovered it to be valueless, not worth the trouble he has gone to for it.

His gaze flickers between Bellatrix, Narcissa and me for a split second before he answers the question.

'I agree that a great deal of them should be wiped out, in order to bring down their numbers,' he says smoothly, 'but to remove all of them would be pure foolishness when they could be used as most effective slaves. Society is based on rule and control above all else, after all.'

Bellatrix's face looses all its colour. 'Fine!' she says loudly. 'Fine. I do not need your approval. The Dark Lord shall listen to my plans, and he shall put them into action, I am sure. For he knows that I am his most loyal, his most faithful, most intelligent-'

'Tell me, Bella,' Lucius interrupts her, his voice laden with lazy malice, 'is your arrogance a trait you have possessed since birth, or has it been honed and perfected over time? For I am inclined to believe it's a combination of both.'

And I start to laugh then. I can't help it, but for some reason an unwilling giggle bursts out of me, but as it does the wine jug slips from my grasp once again and falls crashing down on the floor. Wine spreads out among the broken bits of jug, running around my bare feet, staining the bottom of my robe.

God, can't I do anything right? This is the second bloody jug that's been destroyed this evening… or is it the third?

I look out into the room, horrified. Everyone's staring at me in complete silence. Bellatrix looks enraged, but everyone else merely looks bemused. Lucius even looks as if a smile is tempting his lips.

'How dare you!' Bellatrix hisses. 'How _dare_ you, you filthy little Mudblood! You shame us before our guests by behaving so-'

'Bella, calm down,' Narcissa says soothingly, smiling at me patronizingly. 'The girl's drunk, it's obvious. She means no harm, I'm sure-'

'No harm! _No harm_!' Bellatrix stands up from her chair, shaking with fury. 'She's stolen our wine, the little thief! I'll show her to display such audacity-'

'You will do no such thing,' Lucius says firmly. Bellatrix turns to him furiously, as if she's about to say something to him, but the sight of Narcissa keeps her quiet. She shuts her mouth like a trap and sits back down in her chair like a child in a strop. Lucius nods and turns to Draco, who's smiling widely at my misfortune.

'Draco, take the Mudblood up to her room, she's obviously in no fit state to serve anymore.'

Draco stares at Lucius. '_Me,_ father?'

Lucius rolls his eyes. 'Yes, you. Here.' He hands him the transportation key. Draco takes it eagerly and gets up from the table, walking over to me. He grabs my arm and holds the key aloft.

'The west bedroom.'

And I'm pressed into that horrible airless void of transportation, and oh nooo, I think I'm going to be sick!

As we emerge into my room my balance goes for some reason and I don't know why but the room spins around me and I stumble and fall on my knees. I hear a snort of laughter and I look up to see Draco's sneering face swimming in front of me as the room spins behind him.

'You're pathetic, Granger,' he drawls contemptuously. 'You're just like a child.'

I push away from the floor and I sit up, staring at him.

'But I'm not a child anymore, Draco,' I whisper. 'Your father's seen to that.'

Draco stares at me for a few moments, his eyes widening.

'What's _that_ supposed to mean?'

I fall silent. I should tell him that I don't mean what he thinks I mean, but right now I don't care. He can think what he likes, can't he? What does it matter? Besides, it's not as if his assumption is so far from the truth, really.

'He'd never…' He trails off, but his expression hardens. 'Pathetic,' he repeats, before he turns and strides out of the door, banging it shut behind him.

I sit still for a moment on the floor, hugging my knees up to my chest. I remember my mum and dad, and I suddenly feel like I'm going to cry.

I'm distracted when I hear voices outside of my door.

'What are you doing here?'

'Making a brief escape. Go back downstairs. Tell them I shall rejoin them shortly.'

'Yes, Father,' Draco says, a hint of a smile in his voice. 'Are you finding it as boring as I am?'

Lucius' tone does not encourage the intimate note. 'Your Aunt's company is somewhat… tedious, I will admit. She doesn't seem to realise that fanaticism isn't the most fascinating subject for the dinner table.'

Draco laughs, but Lucius does not join in with him. 'Go, Draco. I will be down shortly. I would like a quiet drink by myself for a few minutes.'

I hear the light clicking of Draco's footsteps move smartly down the corridor, before a door creaks open and bangs shut.

Then there's a long pause. I pick myself up, looking at the door, because I know he's on the other side of it, and I'll bet he's going to come in…

But he doesn't. A few more moments pass before Lucius' footsteps move only a few steps away before there's the sound of a door nearby opening and closing.

Bastard. Why isn't he…

_Why isn't he coming to see you?_

Shut up!

_That's what you were thinking._

I shiver, telling myself it's from the cold.

Hang on… did Draco lock the door?

I take a step forwards, but then I stop, chickening out from going on any further.

_Did_ he lock the door? I didn't hear him do it.

I almost want to laugh at the ferret's stupidity.

I take another step forward, and another, slowly pushing myself further and further, tentatively reaching out and placing my hand on the door handle. I twist it in my grasp, and the door swings open quietly.

Barely daring to breathe, I step out in the corridor, and I look around me.

Could I… could I try and escape?

No. I can't even try it. I've got no way of taking on all of the wizards in this house, and even if I did I wouldn't have any way of getting across the lake.

In that case, there's only one thing I want to do right now. Sadism it might be, but I just can't take anymore confusion and sod it, why can't I go and visit him? He visits me often enough, god knows!

Besides… I have to _know_…

I turn to the left, where I heard his footsteps moving off to.

I move silently to the door of his room, terrified, but I don't care, I need to see him, I need to know…

I reach out tentatively and I rap my knuckles gently on the wood before I press my ear against the door. I hear a muffled curse come from the room before all of a sudden the door flies open and bugger, where did it go? I stumble forwards into the room, and I feel strong vice like arms around me, holding me up.

'What the hell are you doing here?' he asks, and yes, I've got the right room.

I look up, and the room seems to be spinning for a moment, especially when he lets go of me, a disgusted look on his face. And the room spins and spins and spins again, and oooh no, I don't feel right…

He tuts and his fingers entwine around my wrist before he drags me across the room and sits me down in a chair by a fireplace with a small, dying fire in its grate.

Huh. I should have realised how extravagantly he would have furnished his room. Even in a bloody prison, he couldn't possibly let anyone believe that he's not above them.

Not that I _want_ tapestries and luxurious four-poster beds in my room, of course. It's hardly top of my list of priorities.

There's one tapestry in particular that catches my eye – one that shows a young woman eating an apple, watched avidly by a large black snake.

I exhale in irritation.

'What is it?' he asks sharply.

I shake my head. I'm not stupid enough to tell him what a pretentious git he is.

His fingers hook into my chin and he brings my face up to look into his. I stare up at him unflinchingly, feeling so much braver than usual, somehow.

'How much _did_ you have to drink?' he asks disdainfully.

'Not much. Hardly anything, really.'

He raises an eyebrow at me, as if he doesn't believe a word of what I'm saying.

I need to explain myself. He needs to know why I'm here.

'I wouldn't have come, but Draco left my door unlocked, and I thought…'

I trail off then, not really knowing where I was going in the first place. He frowns at me for a few moments before he points his wand at the small table next to the chair I'm sitting in, and a glass full of water appears next to his glass of brandy. He picks the water up and hands it to me.

'Drink this,' he mutters. 'It will clear your head.'

I can't stand it. I can't stand it because he's treating me like a stupid little girl and I'm _not_ a child anymore, not after everything he's put me through. He took my innocence away and he can't treat me like a young girl when it's him that made me grow up so fast.

His distain is almost as horrible as his hate.

I take the glass from him and I throw it across the room. It smashes on the stone floor, the water spilling out across the flags.

'I don't need your ridicule,' I hiss.

He raises his eyebrows, a mocking smirk curving onto his face.

'Oh, but you make it so easy for me to mock you,' he mutters, and I can hear the ice in his voice. 'If you're not going to accept my hospitality then you can just get out of my room. I don't want you here, in case you hadn't guessed.'

He steps back, allowing me room to stand up, but I won't give him the satisfaction of doing what he wants.

One of his eyebrows rises.

'So you want to do this the hard way? Very well.'

He grips me by the arm and wrenches me up to my feet, attempting pull me to the door. I yank my arm out of his grip.

'No, I want to stay in here!' I shout. 'Do you think I came here just for you to throw me straight out again?'

He turns and looks at me in disbelief.

Why did I say that? What the hell am I playing at? What am I _doing_?

'So, you want to stay here,' he murmurs. 'You never cease to amaze me. I would have thought that you would want to stay as far away from me as possible. That always seems to have been your intention in the past.'

He steps closer to me. I back away, stepping slowly away from him, because he's got that dangerous look in his eye, the look I know all too well now.

He smiles, starting to enjoy himself. He steps even closer, backing me slowly across the room.

'So,' he says quietly, 'why exactly _did_ you come here?'

My mouth is dry. All of my strange new confidence seems to leave me for a moment.

'No reason,' I mumble.

He smirks. 'Deception still isn't a strength of yours, is it?'

And with those words my confidence comes back to me, because I remember clear as day the last time he said that to me.

'You're one to talk,' I mutter, my voice shaking as he backs me into the wall. He doesn't take his eyes off my face. 'You've turned deception into an art form. You've spent years hiding your true self from the world. You evaded Azkaban by doing so. For years and years you had everyone convinced that you were a good man who'd just got caught in the wrong place at the wrong time.' I reach the wall, my back bumping into it, but I keep on looking up into those cold, fathomless eyes. 'Oh yes, you're very skilled at deception.'

'Does this conversation have a purpose?' he drawls, his voice decidedly bored.

'Yes,' I mutter viciously. 'You see, I know how you did it. You managed to keep your true self hidden by making sure that no-one ever got close enough to you to know you.'

Something hard is creeping into those eyes of his, but he doesn't say anything, not yet. And so I push myself on. I've got to say it. I need to know.

'You made a mistake in letting me get too close to you, Lucius,' I whisper. 'Because as you let me get closer I discovered something you don't want anyone ever to know.'

He steps forward again so that he's standing even closer to me, his hand resting against the wall by the side of my head, trapping me.

'Did you?' he murmurs, his eyes boring into mine. He leans in closer. 'And what have you discovered, my little Mudblood?'

I falter for a second, but no, damn him, I _will _say it.

'I know that you want me,' I whisper, and there, it's done.

My words sit still in the air around us, no going back now.

My breath is coming short with fear.

He gives no reaction. His skin has gone slightly pale, and his eyes have darkened, but apart from that, nothing.

And so I push myself onwards. It needs to be said.

'I am so close by, so _available_ to you should you choose to let yourself take what you want, and yet I'm the one thing you won't allow yourself to have.'

I take a deep breath, willing myself to go on.

'And I don't think you can stand it,' I whisper, almost hoping that he can't hear me. 'That's why you treat me as badly as you do – because you would do anything and everything just to keep me away.'

For long moments he doesn't say anything. He just stares at me, his eyes grey chips of fury, and only then does it hit me what a terrible, terrible idea this was. What am I trying to achieve? What was I thinking by coming here at all?

_Why_ didn't I just stay in my room?

'You fancy yourself to be very perceptive, don't you?' he whispers viciously, freezing my veins with fear.

'I'm sorry,' I say desperately, but it's too late.

He slaps me hard across the face, so hard that my head snaps back and blood fills my mouth and I'm bruised, all of my face is bruised, I know it.

He grabs me by the throat, holding my face up close to him. I start to whimper in sheer terror.

For long, agonising moments he just looks at me with disgust and hatred, his hand cutting off all my breath, before he throws me down to the floor. I land painfully on my front.

'How _dare_ you!' he whispers. He crouches over me, turning me over by my shoulder so I have to look up into his furious face, because I've no choice but to do so. 'You _dare_ to talk like that to me? You arrogant, presumptuous little _bitch_!'

He pins me by the throat to the ground, drawing his wand out of his robes and pointing it right at my heart. The fury on his face is enough to kill me on its own.

'That's it,' he whispers harshly. 'I am done with you. I've had enough. Ever since I first captured you, you have been nothing but a burden to me.'

'What are you going to do?' I whisper, absolutely terrified.

'I am going to do what I should have done when the Dark Lord gave me the option to do it,' he mutters fiercely. 'I am going to dispose of you.'

I gasp in horror as the world comes crashing down around me. 'Please… no, you can't, you wouldn't-'

He slaps me hard across the face again, and I taste blood and tears and… oh god, he's really going to do it. His skin is colourless, his face a concrete mask of hate.

'Do not presume that you know what I am capable of!' he hisses. 'What should it be to me whether you live or die? You're nothing but an abomination!'

I start to cry in sheer terror. No, no, no, I don't want to die, please don't let me die, please-

'Please,' I whisper, but he pushes his wand deep into my throat, his face angrier than I have ever seen it. His cheeks are pure white.

'For too long you have caused me nothing but trouble!' he hisses. 'Too long have I put up with your insufferable arrogance and ignorance. It ends here, Mudblood. I am finished with you.'

The tears roll out of the corners of my eyes, falling back into my hair. He can't kill me, he just can't, not after everything we've been through. It's just not fair!

'But why?' I whisper. I need to talk some sense into him. 'Why would you do this, after everything?'

The tip of his wand pushes further into my throat, almost tearing at it. I gasp out as sob. His eyes are pitiless.

'After _everything, _Mudblood?' He laughs darkly. 'You _dare_ to presume that the pair of us are _united_ in some way? You pathetic little muggle. There is nothing between us, _nothing_!'

'But if that's true then why did you kiss me?' I ask in sheer desperation.

His eyes widen and without moving his wand he whispers the curse. '_Crucio!_'

Pain rips from my throat throughout my entire body, tearing through me like a chainsaw gouging through flesh and bone, ripping me apart from the inside out, and I don't care, I don't care, nothing is worse than this pain, nothing, _nothing!_

He lifts the curse from me. I'm barely able to breathe for the twanging shocks of after-pain trembling through my body. He's still holding me to the ground and his wand is still planted in my throat. His face is set hard as stone with hate.

He looks deeply into my eyes, and I feel the invisible hand of legimilency roam around my mind, but I barely register it.

If I were to die now, wouldn't it really be for the best? Just to be free of this pain, to be free of the agony of my relationship with _him_, wouldn't that be sweet mercy?

And I'd see my parents again.

I look into his eyes. They're like frozen grey lakes. If you look past the cold, frozen surface, you can see the dark depths of the water still running beneath it.

I don't want to chip the surface of that ice. If I do I'll fall in and drown, I know that I will.

But I'm going to die, anyway.

Without thinking I reach up, slowly.

He doesn't try to stop me.

I brush my fingertips onto his pale cheek. The skin is warm under my fingers. I lace them up further, so that my entire palm lies against his face.

I can't understand his expression. He's looking at me so intently that I feel almost violated by his stare.

It's enough for me. I bring my hand down from his face, and I start to pray, even though god gave up on me when Lucius Malfoy first apparated into my bedroom back at home.

'Kill me, Lucius,' I whisper. 'At least that way I'll be free.'

He snarls with absolute rage. I've never seen him look so terrifying. His nostrils are flaring and his breathing is harsh, oh god, he's going to do it, he's really going to murder me, right here, right now…

He stands up and wrenches me up, dragging me across the room with his hand entangled in my hair. The pain of it makes me cry out, and I kick myself across the ground to help him drag me along, anything to stop the pain.

'Antonin was right, you _are_ a whore,' he mutters savagely. 'If you ever, _ever _behave like this again, then believe me, I really will murder you.'

He stops when we reach the door, and he holds me up closer to him. I can see every line of fury on his pale face as he stares at me with eyes that are hard with cold, pure fury.

'It would be all too easy for me,' he mutters vehemently. 'After all, it's not as if you mean anything to me.'

He pulls the door open and throws me out of his room. I fall to the ground, landing on my front so I can't see his face but I hear him close the door behind me, slamming it in his rage.

I lie on the ground, not lifting my head up. I start to cry out of shock and pain and sheer humiliation. I just want to disappear into the cold stone floor. I never, ever want to have to face him again.

How could I… how could I have said that to him? What was I hoping to achieve?

I don't want to answer that question.

I'm so stupid. Stupid stupid stupid. His pureblood supremacy bollocks is hardly going to give way for me, is it? He hates me, hates me more than anything or anyone-

'Granger?'

My heart stops.

_Oh no._

I drag my head up.

Draco stands in front of me, looking down at me.

He looks afraid. And disgusted.

He steps up closer. I don't move.

I've never seen him look as young as he looks now. He's always looked older than he is; when we were in our sixth year I always thought he looked about twenty. But now he looks exactly like the little boy he was when I first knew him.

'What… what's going on?' he asks, although I'm sure he doesn't really want to know the answer to his own question.

'Draco, it isn't-' I gasp out, but then something happens to make the whole situation ten times worse.

'Draco, you're not going to bed already, are you?' Bellatrix's voice rings out from the darkness behind Draco. 'You're being extremely rude to our guests, you know. Just like your father…'

Her voice trails off as she comes into view. Her eyes rest on me. They widen in shock, and then I really do start to shake.

Her gaze flickers between me and Lucius' door.

'How did you get out here, Mudblood?' she whispers.

I just look at her. I don't know what I can say.

She stares at me, her eyes like big black pools of hate. She reaches up and lays a hand on Draco's shoulder.

'Go back downstairs,' she whispers. 'Attend to our guests. I shall deal with this… this…'

She trails off. Draco stares at me for a long, painful moment before he turns to go, disappearing into the darkness of the corridor.

I don't dare to move. Bellatrix's gaze continues to flick between me and Lucius' door. I can see her mind working furiously behind those mad eyes of hers. Me. The floor. Lucius' room. Lucius Lucius Lucius…

Suddenly she steps over to me and pulls me up by the hair, wrenching me to her. I cry out in pain but her hand clamps over my mouth, and she whispers furiously in my ear.

'Be quiet Mudblood or I swear I'll cut your tongue out.' Flecks of her spittle flick onto my cheek. 'Would he still want you if you had no tongue, I wonder?'

She drags me into my room, opening the door and throwing me unceremoniously onto my bedroom floor. She doesn't come in herself, but she stands in the doorway, watching me.

'You'll pay for taking him away from me,' she mutters furiously. 'Yes, Mudblood, you'll suffer for what you have done to me, I swear it.'

And with that she leaves the room, slamming the door on me.

I stand up, and my stomach squelches and heaves, and acid burns up through my throat and oooh nooo…

I stumble to the bathroom, barely reaching the toilet before I throw up into the white porcelain bowl.

I curl up into a ball on the cold bathroom floor when I'm done, suddenly too exhausted to move, and all at once I find myself asleep.


	24. The Sin of Envy

'_Oh, beware, my lord, of jealousy! It is the green-eyed monster, which does mock the meat it feeds on.' – _William Shakespeare_, Othello_

* * *

I'm counting all of the stones that make up the wall that stands in front of me. It's vitally important that I count every last stone I can see. Because I won't think of what happened last night. I can't let myself think about it.

_Fifty-five, fifty-six, fifty-seven…_

God, did I really… how could I have _said_ that to him? What the _hell _was I trying to achieve?

It makes my skin crawl just to think about it. To remember the look of pure fury on his face freezes my blood.

_Sixty one, sixty two, sixty three…_

I never, ever want to see him again. The mere thought of it makes me want to shrivel up and die.

It's like a nightmare. A horrible, horrible bad dream.

Maybe that's genuinely all it was!

God, I wish I could believe that.

_Eighty eight, eighty nine, ninety…_

I felt bloody awful when I woke up this morning.

I haven't seen Bellatrix, or Draco, or (thank god) Lucius. None of them have come to see me. I'm hoping that Bellatrix was so drunk that she can't remember what happened, and that Draco… god, with him I don't know what to hope for. Perhaps that he's too much of a coward to actually do anything about what he saw, and also that he never mentions it to his bloody aunt.

_One hundred and four, one hundred and five, one hundred and six…_

And Lucius… what can I possibly hope for from Lucius?

All I can hope for, I suppose, is that I never see him again. That he keeps away from me for the rest of my time here. That I never see him again for the rest of my life.

That thought makes me feel so alone and abandoned and lost that I almost want to scream with it.

The door swings open behind me. I spin around, my heart leaping up my throat. Maybe he's come, finally, I-

But it's not him at the door.

Avery stands in the doorway, his calm, empty blue gaze sweeping around the room before resting on me, critically taking in my pale, tired face.

His own face holds absolutely no expression whatsoever.

'You have a visitor,' he says, then inclines his head slightly to speak to someone outside of the room. 'Come along.'

And then the wonderfully familiar face of Ron comes into view.

'The boy tells me that you are occasionally allowed to visit each other,' Avery asks, looking at me calmly. 'Is that correct?'

His voice is higher than Lucius'. It's like a light whisper. It sounds like something that would come from a man far younger than what Avery looks like.

He's looking at me for an answer. I just gape at him stupidly.

He gives a small, tranquil smile.

'I assume that he was lying, judging from your expression.' He turns calmly to Ron, who pales slightly. 'Lying is not something I tolerate, Weasley. You should be aware of that.'

Ron sets his face hard, steeling himself. 'That's a fucking joke,' he says defiantly. 'You lot lie every day of your lives keeping your identity secret-'

Avery just raises his wand calmly and points it at me.

'_Crucio!_'

And _noooooooo!_ Pain and fire and knives, drills, blades of acid _tear_ through me, over and over and OVER again…

He lifts the curse and I'm suddenly aware that I'm on the ground, with Ron's arms around me as I shake and shake, hurting with the shaking.

_Breathe. And breathe. It's over now. Keep it together._

Ron's arms are shaking as they hold me. His breathing is coming fast and shallow.

I look up to see Avery already turning to leave the room.

'I told you, Weasley, I won't hesitate to punish your friend for your transgressions if necessary.' As he reaches the doorway, he turns to face us again, his expression perfectly serene. 'But I don't see any harm in giving you a few moments alone together. Surely no harm could come from that.'

He pauses, his cold, empty eyes resting on me and Ron.

'After all,' he allows himself a humourless smile, 'what is life without affection?'

A spasm of fear runs through me as he backs out of the door, closing it behind him, leaving Ron and I alone together.

I don't mind admitting it; Avery creeps me out. It's not fear – I don't feel about him the cold dread I experience whenever I even _think_ about Lucius. But there's something so… weird about him. I don't know what it is, but…

Ron stands up, pulling me up to my feet by my shoulders and looking down into my face.

'Are you alright?' he asks shakily.

I nod. 'I'm fine.' I attempt a shaky smile. 'It's nothing I haven't been through before, after all.'

He doesn't smile back, which isn't really surprising. It's not as if it's very funny, is it?

He frowns, not taking his eyes off my face. He looks as if he's afraid of what he's going to say.

'What happened to you last night?' he asks quietly. 'When I went back through to the dining room you were gone, and none of them would tell me where.'

My stomach crumbles down with remembered humiliation, but I try to keep my face impassive.

'Nothing. I just… well, it's kind of embarrassing.' I try a nervous laugh, but it comes out as a kind of hysterical squawk. 'I had some of that wine to drink. You know, the wine we were serving. Anyway, I had a bit too much, and-'

'I know all about that.' Ron interrupts me, surprising me. 'They were all laughing about it when I came back in. What I want to know is what happened when Lucius Malfoy disappeared from the room and didn't come back for the entire evening.'

I gulp down hard, trying to force my fear back down my throat before it spills out of me in words.

'I have no idea,' I say firmly. 'Draco brought me up here, and I fell asleep quite quickly after that. If his father came up here, I didn't see him.'

Ron takes a deep breath through his nose. He's angry, I can tell. You can't be best friends with someone for seven years without being able to tell when they're angry.

'Look,' he says defiantly, 'despite what everyone thinks, Hermione, I'm _not _stupid.'

'I know that you're not, Ron.'

He nods, his lips a thin line. 'Well then I want you to stop treating me as if I am.' He looks directly into my eyes. 'What's going on between you and Lucius Malfoy?'

Ice grips around my heart, and I force myself to answer quickly. 'Honestly, Ron, it's noth-'

'It's not _nothing_!' he says, his voice passionately resentful. I get the impression he's been wanting to say this for ages. 'If it's _nothing_ then why do you always talk about him? Why do you spend all of your time either talking about him or watching him?'

'I'm not-'

'I've _seen_ you!' he says, his voice rising. 'Every time we're in a room with him you spend half your time looking at him, and when you're not looking at him he's looking at you. What's going on? Tell me the truth!'

'I've told you, it's _nothing!_' I say, my own voice starting to rise out of desperation. 'You couldn't possibly understand. You're mainly left alone, but all I ever have in my life is Lucius tormenting me. And I'm scared, Ron. That's why I spend all of my time looking out for him or talking about him - because I live in fear of him every moment of every day!'

His grip on my shoulders tightens. 'You don't need to be afraid of him,' he murmurs furiously. 'I'm here, Hermione. Remember when the Basilisk petrified you in our second year?'

'Remember it?' I ask incredulously. Of course I remember it. The first horrible, unforgettable effect Lucius Malfoy had on my life.

Ron nods, his eyes bright with emotion. 'I swore at that moment that I would always protect you; that I would never let something as horrible as that happen to you again.'

For a moment his eyes look as if they're about to spill over and he turns from me quickly.

'But now… I feel like I'm losing you,' he says quietly. 'I feel like he's taking you away from me. He has this hold over you, Hermione; you can't deny it.' He takes a deep breath that heaves his shoulders. 'And every day I feel you slipping further away from me.'

I look up at the back of him; this tall figure, topped off with a mop of red hair. His ginger hair curls over the collar of his navy-blue robes. It's grown longer since we were captured. Time was I could see the back of his neck above his robes. Not anymore.

I know how lonely he feels. I know, because that's how I feel every moment of every day.

But we don't have to be alone.

I reach up and I slip my fingers under his hair, curving them round the back of his neck as I walk around to face him.

And before I know what I'm doing I've stood up on the very tips of my toes and I've pressed my lips to him in a kiss; a kiss I've been waiting for for about five years.

And it's bumbling and nervous and sweet, and I feel slightly dizzy as he wraps his arms around me and lifts me slightly off the ground. His lips fall open and I start to giggle into his mouth. He breaks the kiss, laughing along with me.

It's perfect. Everything it should be.

He looks deeply into my eyes, and the pair of us are wearing silly little grins and it's almost like seeing the sun shine again, because in this moment there is no pain, no hurt, no Lucius. There's just me and Ron and everything that's good in the world.

He leans down and kisses me again, and I wrap my arms up around his neck and he lifts me up off my feet once more…

And then the door bangs open.

We break apart hastily and I turn to see the one person I don't want to see. The one person who I never, ever want to see me with Ron.

Lucius stares at me from the doorway. His face is set hard, and the look in his eyes tears me to shreds. He's looking at me as if he hates me. And this time he doesn't look as if he hates me simply for what I _am_. This time he hates me because of what I've _done_.

He narrows his eyes at the pair of us.

'You see now why I strictly forbid the boy from visiting here without supervision?'

Only then do I notice Avery standing in the doorway behind Lucius, but I don't pay any attention to him. All there is for me right now is Lucius, and the hatred and fury in his gaze.

'I'm sorry, Lucius,' Avery says. 'I did not know you would be so… averse to the idea.'

'Well you do now,' Lucius says, without even moving his lips. He stares at me for long, agonising moments before he raises his wand.

But it's not pointed at me.

'_Crucio!_'

Ron screams out and falls to the ground. I automatically fall with him, trying to cradle him in my arms but I can't because he's kicking out frantically, clawing the air and he screams and bucks and writhes in sheer agony.

I look up at Lucius, screaming desperately.

'Please, _please_, I'm begging you! PLEASE!'

But he's not listening. He's staring down at Ron with a rage and a hatred that's sub-human. Primal. His eyes are lit up as Ron screams and wails on the floor.

I look down at Ron, helplessly trying to hold him, but I can't. Blood starts to bubble out of his nose and his face goes green as his eyes roll back in his head…

And then the screaming stops.

Ron lies very still on the ground, the blood still streaming out of his nose and his eyes closed as his chest rises and falls rapidly.

'_Ron!'_ I scream, shaking him. 'Ron! _Wake up!_'

Relentless fingers clamp around my wrists to draw my hands away from my friend, before Lucius crouches down next to him, placing his fingers lightly on Ron's pulse-point.

'He's alive, Mudblood,' he murmurs. He stands up. 'Take him back to his room, Avery. And never, ever allow him in here again without my supervision.'

'Of course, Lucius. But, forgive me, are we not forbidden from harming the boy?'

Lucius breathes a bitter laugh. 'He's alive, isn't he? Now get him out of my sight.'

Avery looks at Lucius for a few moments before he shrugs and magically levitates Ron, taking him out of the room with him and shutting the door behind him.

And so now it's just me and Lucius. Alone. Again.

He stares at me long and hard.

I just stare back at him, my mouth opening and closing stupidly as I try desperately to think of what to say.

The fury and hatred behind that curse must have been terrible if the force of it made Ron pass out so quickly.

I want to kill him for that.

His mouth thins out. 'I have to confess myself disappointed, Mudblood,' he says quietly, coldly. 'I know that you are so far down the social scale that you barely even count as a human being, but I warranted you with more intelligence than this.' He runs his eyes over me, his lip curling up with disgust.

I glare at him. 'Why?' is all I say.

'Why what?'

'Why did you torture him?' I ask furiously. 'I begged you, you bastard. I begged you not to do it. Do you remember the last time I begged you for something, Lucius?'

And of course he remembers. He recoils slightly, sucking in his breath.

But when he replies, he doesn't give me an answer to my question.

'Tell me, what exactly is it that Weasley has to offer you?'

My cheeks burn. What _right _has he to say this to me?

'It's got nothing to do with you!' I say defiantly.

He opens his mouth as if he's going to say something, but then he closes it again. He looks as if he's about to snap.

He steps closer to me. 'After all that I have done for you, I would say that it has _everything _to do with me,' he mutters venomously.

I feel myself shatter into a million pieces.

'After everything you've done for me?' I ask, my voice rising hysterically. 'Yes, because I owe you so much, don't I? Don't you remember breaking my fingers before crushing them under your boot? Do you remember Imperio-ing me into cutting off my best friend's thumb? Do you remember murdering my parents, Lucius, _do you_?'

He reaches up and his fingers close round my throat. He half-drags me across the room and pins me against the stone wall, his fingers digging into my skin for long moments.

I stare desperately up into his face. His eyes are ice-chips of cold, hard rage.

He takes a few deep breaths before he releases my throat, and I can breathe again, having to make an effort not to gag on the sudden intake of air.

'I had my reasons, Mudblood,' he whispers, and his words push me over the edge again.

'Oh, I know that. Believe me, I know all about your _reasons _for killing my parents,' I hiss up into his face, and I see some of the colour leave his skin. 'Voldemort told me. You want me to believe that you were just following orders, but really you killed them so that Voldemort wouldn't kill me to get to Harry. You see, I know all about it.'

There's a long silence while my words buzz in the air around us, making everything worse, but I just don't care.

He stares at me for a long, agonising moment. I feel as if there's no air left in the world as I'm pulled into the depths of his eyes.

'You presumptuous little bitch,' he whispers. 'You have no idea what my reasons were for killing your parents. I could hardly let you be killed when you could still be used to get to Potter. The Dark Lord momentarily looked over your importance in his rage. I simply reminded him of it, which he remains grateful for.'

I look up at him incredulously, just not caring about anything anymore. There is no way this situation could get any worse, so there's absolutely no point in keeping quiet.

'So that's why you just flipped when you saw Ron and me, is it?' I ask quietly. 'Tell me, do you genuinely believe the reasons you always give me for your behaviour towards me?'

His nostrils flare. 'Your arrogance is overwhelming,' he mutters viciously. 'It is what led you to go to my room last night, claiming that you have seen something in me that I want so desperately to keep hidden from you. You _dare _to presume that I hold any feelings for you other than revulsion.' He breathes out a joyless laugh. 'It's pathetic, do you hear me? I _despise_ you!'

Anger shoots up from the pit of my stomach, sending electricity pounding through my veins.

'Is that why I woke up one night to find you trailing your fingers down my back?' My voice is rising hysterically. I want to hurt him; to make him bleed and scream and cry. 'Is that why you kissed me after we murdered Dolohov together? Don't you tell me that I mean nothing to you, because I don't believe you anymore! It _kills_ you that you can't have me, Lucius. You know that it does. Why don't you stop being such a coward and stop trying to push me away? What's stopping you from taking what you want, apart from my _filthy_ blood?'

He draws back his hand as if he's about to slap me, his face suffused in temper, but he lowers it after a few moments, struggling to keep his breathing calm.

And it enrages me.

'WELL GO ON THEN!' I shout. 'Hit me, you coward! Push me away. It's what you want, isn't it? _Hit me!_'

I throw my hand out and slap him hard across the face.

He looks at me, his face hard with rage as his cheek blooms pink with the blow, before he draws his hand back to slap me again, and this time he actually does it. Again, and again. It hurts so badly, but I don't care. I need him to hurt me. I need him to acknowledge how he feels, even if by proving me right he's causing me pain beyond all imagining.

His hand laces in my hair and he yanks my head back, looking down into my face. I feel blood flowing out of my mouth and over my lips. All of my head aches.

He looks down into my face, his harsh breathing subsiding. His hate for me is palpable.

'Your arrogance,' he murmurs, 'will be your downfall.'

His face hovers only inches above mine, his eyes huge and dark.

'You're one to talk,' I whisper. 'You're the most arrogant person I know.'

His mouth twists for a moment, up into what might almost be a smile. He pulls my head back further, the pain pulling tears up to my eyes.

He brings his face closer to mine, closer, his mouth what feels like only millimetres away from mine. His lips part slightly and mine fall open too as he comes closer, and closer.

He hesitates, before he unlaces his fingers from my hair, pushing me away from him furiously.

'Damn you!' he hisses. '_Damn _you!'

He turns and strides out of the room, slamming the door and locking it behind him.

I turn away from the door, pressing my fingers to my bleeding lips. I close my eyes, and tears roll down my cheeks.

I'm sick of everything. I'm sick of him hating me while at the same time I know that he _does_ care for me, even though he'll never admit it, never, never, never.

I don't want to rely on him anymore. I'm sick of living at his mercy. I want to be free of it. I can't live with him feeding off of me, me feeding off of him. It's sick, it's twisted, it's not right.

I don't want to live, knowing that I went to him hoping that if I confronted him about it he would eventually do something about it. I will not let him win.

And if I want him back, then that means that he's won, doesn't it?

And he _knows_.

'…_so willing and obedient…'_

No. It will not happen.

My heart leaps up to my mouth as I hear the door unlock behind me, slowly swinging open.

'Oh, what now?' I whisper. 'Haven't you done enough?'

I turn around, ready to face him. Ready to shout and scream at him, because I'm sick of it, _sick _of it.

I freeze, fear crushing down on my ribs and pulling my heart up through my mouth.

It isn't Lucius at the door.


	25. Payment in Blood

'_The Queen turned crimson with fury, and, after glaring at her for a moment like a wild beast, screamed "Off with her head!"' - _Lewis Carroll, _Alice's Adventures in Wonderland_

* * *

Her eyes glitter with triumph. She's smiling – a horrible, wide smile of maniacal pleasure.

'Why so surprised, Mudblood?' she drawls as she steps into the room. 'Surely my visit is not entirely unexpected.'

I just gape at her stupidly, trying to keep my breathing calm. _In, and out._ Oh god, oh god.

I should have known. I'm so stupid. _Why_ did I convince myself that she might have forgotten what she'd seen? Because how could she forget? How could she ever let this go?

'After all, you are supposedly intelligent,' she whispers as she steps closer towards me, 'and I would have thought that the last time we spoke I made it perfectly clear that I would return.'

She grins all the wider at me before she inclines her head towards the open doorway.

'Come in, Draco.'

And, just to make everything ten-thousand times worse, Draco follows his Aunt into the room. But he's not smiling like she is. He's staring at me as if I'm the most despicable, disgusting thing he's ever had the misfortune of setting eyes on.

It's nothing new coming from him, of course it isn't, but I've never seen such cold hard _hatred _on his face before.

I guess he's truly grown up now.

'I bet you didn't think we'd really come back, did you?' he asks, almost spitting his words at me.

'Oh, I doubt that she did.' Bellatrix smiles all the wider as I feel the colour leave my face. 'Her arrogance will have led her to underestimate us just as it led her to your father's bed.'

Draco blanches as Bellatrix's smile fades away.

'Perhaps she hoped that we would forget what we saw,' she murmurs. 'But we didn't forget, did we Draco?'

Draco shakes his head. 'No, we didn't, Auntie.'

_Auntie? _

Jesus Christ.

The pair of them step towards me. I turn and I run to the side, trying frantically to get away from them, but I only get about two steps forwards before a pair of arms clamp around my waist and a wand presses into my ribs, bruising them as it almost punctures the skin.

And so I take a deep breath to the depths of my lungs and I start to scream.

'_Lucius! Lucius, please-_'

Bellatrix's hand clamps hard over my mouth, clamping my nose between her thumb and finger, and no matter how hard I try I can't breathe, I just can't breathe-

'Oh no, I don't think so,' she whispers in my ear. 'He won't come running to protect you this time. It's over, Mudblood. He can't help you now.'

I heave and heave, and although I hear her words and I understand them all I can think about are my empty lungs.

'Sound-proof the room, Draco.'

And with those words she throws me to the ground. I choke on my own breath as I fall, banging into the floor, grazing my palms on the stone.

I look up, and from under my hair I can see Draco pointing his wand at the door, muttering the incantation for a sound-proofing charm. The spell ripples across the walls of the room as it takes effect, taking away any chance I have of Lucius hearing what's going on and coming to save me.

Bellatrix smiles before pointing her wand at the doorway.

'_Colloportus!_'

The door seals itself with a squelching sound.

I'm trapped. Sealed in with the pair of them.

I start to shake uncontrollably, my teeth chattering with the force of it.

They both turn to face me, and now I can see a true family resemblance between the pair of them. I always thought Draco looked like his father, but now I can see that he looks so much more like his mother's side of the family.

There's a long silence before Bellatrix flicks her wand at me.

'_Crucio!_'

And pain and _fire _and AGONY crush down on me, course through my veins like blood of _acid_ and it stops my breath, stops my thought, stops _time_…

I curl up onto my side when the curse eventually leaves me, wrapping my arms around my head and whimpering to myself. But it doesn't help. Nothing can help me.

I'm going to die. They're going to kill me for what they saw. Draco thinks his father's sleeping with a Mudblood, and Bellatrix thinks that a Mudblood stole Lucius away from her. And god only knows what they're going to do to me before they kills me.

Perhaps she'll torture me into insanity like she did with Neville's parents. Perhaps I'll lose my mind and then Lucius will just be stuck with a vegetable to look after.

'Look at her, Draco,' Bellatrix drawls. 'Just look at her. Have you ever seen something so unbelievably pathetic?'

Draco's eyes narrow and he breathes out a horrible, nasty little laugh.

'No.' He spits out the word. 'She's always been a pathetic little cow.'

'Indeed.' Bellatrix whispers, her voice heavy with loathing. 'Indeed. But then, perhaps that's what he appreciates about her. Weak innocence can be so alluring for a man occasionally, wouldn't you agree?'

My eyes shift over to Draco. A flush of embarrassment is spreading across his face, and he lowers his eyes from me. I can't really blame him. This is his _father_ we're talking about, after all.

Father. The word seems so _wrong_ when applied to Lucius, somehow. I can't picture Lucius reading a book to a young Draco, or carrying him around in a piggy-back. I can't picture Lucius ever caring for anyone but himself, let alone being selfless enough to be a decent father.

But… Draco loves him, I think. He must do to want his approval so badly. And now he thinks that his beloved father is the worst kind of hypocrite. And it's all because of me.

But it's not true, none of it is.

'Please,' I say desperately. 'Please… you've got it all wrong! Nothing's going on, I swear-'

A huge crack of pain bursts down my spine. I sink my teeth into my lip, tasting blood. Bellatrix is staring down at me with feverish eyes.

'Don't you lie to us!' she screams. 'We_ saw_ you! Why else would you be lying on the floor outside his room? What possible reason could you give? Were you waiting for him, like a dog? Were you?'

I open my mouth before quickly closing it again, my defensive words clogging in my throat. If I give the real reason I was there that night, I might as well condemn myself anyway.

But what other reason could I give?

Bellatrix lets out a triumphant crow of laughter.

'You see, Draco! She doesn't even _try_ to deny it!' She takes several steps forwards and wrenches my head up by my hair, holding the side of her wand against my throat. She leans close to me, her mouth right next to my ear. 'Though god knows why anyone would want her,' she whispers. 'Tell me, Draco, have you ever seen such a plain girl before? Tell me, as a man. What does she have going for her?'

I stare out of the corner of my eye at Draco. He's looking at me as if he's disgusted that he's even having to contemplate this, and irrationally I think how embarrassing this must be for him. Having to consider what his father… what his father…

God, it's making my skin crawl to be scrutinised like this. I just want to shrivel up and die.

'She's quite clever, Auntie. And she's not _that_ bad looking-'

Bellatrix lets out a sudden shout of hysterical laughter before she throws me on the ground again.

'_Not that bad looking_? Are we even looking at the same girl, Draco?' Bellatrix's voice rings out, almost deafening me. 'Just look at her. Look at that hair and that face. She has nothing going for her, _nothing!_'

Draco laughs, a little nervously, but he still laughs.

'I suppose you're right,' he drawls. 'All through school people picked on her because she was ugly. You should have seen her at the Yule Ball. Pansy said she looked like a beaver in a dress.'

I feel the tears pulling themselves up out of my stomach to my eyes, but I won't let them fall. I let them build up behind my eyes like a dam and I press my lips tightly together to keep all the sobs of pain that threaten to burst out of me locked deep inside.

Bellatrix gives a delighted little giggle.

'Yes,' she says delightedly. 'And now just look at her. Ugly. Worthless. So weak. So alone. What has she got left in the world? The Weasley brat, and Potter's friendship, for what it's worth. And two parents that even now rot away in their graves.'

I burst into tears, every wall smashing down within myself. I curl up into a ball on my side, wrapping my arms up around my head. No, no, no, I won't think about it. I can't, can't, _won't_ think about that.

She laughs again victoriously. 'Oh dear, just look at her. Have I upset you, little girl?'

And I feel anger then. Her words fill me with strength and I think of Ron and of Harry and of everything else I can grab hold of for hope and I lift up my head.

Bellatrix is staring down at me, her black eyes darting about manically. She's got a small line of spit running down her chin.

I look across to Draco, watching his reaction. He's trying to stare at me with hatred and contempt; trying desperately to emulate his _aunty_. But there's something in his eyes, something that reminds me of his father. It's not the hunger I often see in Lucius' eyes. No, it's pity. The same unwilling pity I've seen in Lucius' gaze.

'Draco, don't you wonder why your Aunt cares so much about what she thinks is going on between me and your father?' I ask furiously.

'SHUT UP!' Bellatrix screams, and a stream of fire escapes from the end of her wand. But I'm not going to just lie here and let her do this. If Draco's having any kind of doubts, then I can exploit them.

'She's sleeping with him, Draco!' I say clearly, and Draco's face blanches visibly. 'Or she _was_, anyway. That's why she's reacting like this; because she thinks that I've stolen him for her-'

'_SILENCE!_' A huge cut rips into my cheek as Bellatrix points her wand at me furiously. 'I will not put up with such filthy lies, Mudblood-'

'They're not _lies_, Draco, I swear it!' I say desperately. 'I've seen her kissing him. Even _Voldemort_ knows about it, for god's sake!'

Draco just stares at me, all colour having left his face. Bellatrix looks over at him, her own cheeks white with fear. She approaches him and lays a hand softly on his shoulder. He flinches and shrugs her away.

'Draco,' she whispers softly. 'Draco, she's lying. I am angry simply for your mother's sake, nothing more. Why would I sleep with my brother-in-law? Why would I do such a thing to my own sister?'

'But I _saw_ you!' I say desperately. 'And I've been in Lucius' penseive, and I've seen memories of you having a go at him about me. You're jealous of me, and that's why you're doing this!'

Her face twitches for a second, but she keeps her attention on Draco.

'Who are you going to believe?' she asks quietly. 'Are you going to believe me, your Aunt, who's spent her whole life devoted to her little sister? Or are you going to believe your father's Mudblood whore, who has spent the last few years making your life a misery?'

Draco flinches slightly at the word 'whore', but his face gets some colour back. Turning back to her, he smiles shakily.

'You,' he says quietly. 'Of course I believe you. I'm sorry, Auntie.'

She smiles and reaches up, brushing his cheek with her hand, lacing her fingers over his cheek and curling them in his white hair. He smiles, a small blush creeping over his cheek.

Jesus Christ, what a family.

The pair of them turn back to me, smiling horribly with identical rage in their eyes.

'You vicious little liar!' Draco hisses violently, throwing a stinging hex at my cheek. 'You're so stupid, Granger. Do you really think that I'm going to believe you over my own family?'

Bellatrix smiles triumphantly from behind him, and I know then that there's no point in telling the truth. Draco will never believe me above his beloved Auntie. Why would he? He just sees me as the Mudblood that's trying to steal his father away from his mother.

'I mean, why would he… why would he…'

He seems to struggle for a moment, his face contorting. It's as if he's trying to decide just what's easier for him to comprehend – the thought of his father sleeping with his Aunt, or the thought of his father sleeping with a Mudblood.

'And why, pray, have you been in Lucius' Penseive?' Bellatrix asks, smiling triumphantly. 'Why would he let you see something as intimate as his memories, if you were nothing more than a prisoner of his?'

I bite down on my tongue furiously. I'm such a bloody _idiot._

She flicks her wand in the air, catching a small silver knife in her hands. Her face smoothes out into a malicious smile as she steps slowly towards me, holding the knife out in her shaking hand as if it's a present for me.

'You made a big mistake just then, Mudblood,' she murmurs, her words thick with venom. 'With that malicious little lie you just condemned yourself.'

She steps away from me and flicks her wand again.

'_Nox!_'

The light dissolves around me, leaving me in cold, endless darkness.

I can't see a bloody thing. I'm alone, and vulnerable, trapped in a room with two people who want nothing more than to see me suffer…

I hear a small crackling noise. It's only tiny but it makes me jump out of my skin.

'Don't think you can hide in the dark, Granger,' Draco's voice says out of the darkness. 'Don't think that we can't see you. It's _my _Hand of Glory after all, no matter how much my father likes to borrow it.'

Bellatrix's giggle bounces through the darkness as I feel tears of fear well up in my eyes and I turn around and around, trying desperately to see what's going on.

'Good god, just look at her!' Bellatrix whispers, her voice closer than it was before. 'Look at her! Why on earth does he want her? Who would _ever_ want her?'

My eyes sting, but I press them into the darkness still. I don't know where she is, or what she's doing with that bloody knife of hers… oh god, what am I going to do?

I turn around again and I duck, crawling along the floor, feeling around desperately for my bed. If I could just hide under it, then maybe…

Bellatrix's derisive scream of laughter hits me like a slap in the face.

'Get her!'

I hear footsteps before I feel a boot whip into my ribs and I fall to the floor, gasping for breath. A hand closes round my hair and pulls me back up to my feet.

'You've spent your whole life running away, Granger,' Draco mutters fiercely in my ear. 'But then, Gryffindors always were a bunch of hypocrites, weren't they? They're never really able to practice what they preach, not like us Slytherins, who make sure to follow our ideals through-'

'I don't care about Gryffindor or Slytherin anymore, Draco,' I whisper back, tears coursing down my cheeks. 'There are so many more important things I have to concern myself with now. Hogwarts doesn't matter to me anymore. All that matters to me is survival. It's your father that's seen to that.'

His grip on my hair loosens, but I feel a hand fly across my face in a slap. But it didn't come from him. I know that it didn't.

'You insolent little _slut!_' Bellatrix hisses from close in front of me. I can almost feel her breathing on my face. 'You will pay for your arrogance and your pride, and for the actions they have caused you to take.'

Wiry fingers grip around my wrists and pull them out in front of me, face up.

'All actions have consequences, Mudblood,' she whispers. 'That's something you should have learned years ago.'

A sudden movement.

Then pain rips across my wrists, so suddenly that it doesn't even register with me at first, until it all crashes down on me. I cry out, and she lets go of my wrists.

'What did you do?' I ask desperately, holding my wrists out in front of me.

She giggles maliciously.

'I didn't do anything,' she whispers. 'Have you hurt yourself? Hmm?'

Instinctively I hold my wrists out in front of me, but I can't see anything, of course I can't.

But I can feel something warm trickling down my wrists…

It's a lie. It's all a lie. She hasn't really done it. She can't have done, she's forbidden from killing me, surely. It's just an illusion.

'It's not real,' I whisper into the darkness.

I hear the pair of them laugh.

'You stupid Mudblood,' Draco whispers.

'If it's not real then why are you _bleeding_?' Bellatrix screams the last word with pure sadistic joy.

I gasp with horror and I reach out to grip at my wrists, and yes, she's right, there's blood. Warm, hot blood running out of my wrists, over my skin and my fingers, unstoppable, it just keeps on running and running…

I bite my lip, tears of pain and horror coming to my eyes before a sob of horror escapes my lips.

I turn, and I stumble.

A delighted cackle rings out in the darkness.

'Well go on then!' Bellatrix screams. '_Run!_ Run, Mudblood. Run and hide like the little coward you are!'

And god help me, I do. I turn around and I stagger through the darkness, trying desperately to find a way out, but there isn't one, there's no escape, no escape from that evil cackle that chases me around the room.

'_Run_, Mudblood! Run! You're so _pathetic_!'

I trip up and my knees bang painfully on the ground. Tears pull themselves up to my eyes as I start to sob, curling up in a ball on the floor.

'_Please!_' I scream out as her mad laughter rings out in the darkness. 'Please, stop! Why are you doing this to me?'

I cling my wrists to my chest, feeling my blood soak into my robe as tears of agony squeeze out of my eyes.

'Shut up, Granger!' Draco mutters venomously. He doesn't sound overjoyed, like his aunt does. Just bitterly angry. 'You should have thought about what the consequences of your actions might have been before you fucked my father!'

'But I haven't,' I whisper desperately. I can barely think straight. 'I promise you, I haven't.'

'Don't you dare lie!' Bellatrix shouts. 'I've known about it for months! How dare you try to take him away from my sister?'

'From you, you mean!' I scream from the floor, feeling the agony of my mutilated wrists pound up through my arms. I can feel blood pool up around me, running out through my wrists like nothing else, like a huge, sticky river, and… god, I hope it drowns me. I'd rather die that way, at least there'd be no pain.

A long silence spreads out. A long painful silence. I feel dizzy.

'Don't lie to us!' Draco hisses. 'Don't you dare lie! My father would never-'

'But why wouldn't he, Draco?' I whisper, feeling the blood running around the floor around me, gliding up the tiles of the ground, running into my hair, drenching my robes. 'Surely the thought of your father sleeping with a Mudblood is far worse to you than the idea of him sleeping with your mother's sister.'

'_Enough!_' Bellatrix screams. 'Just _shut up_! Will nothing make you keep that ugly mouth of yours shut? _Crucio!_'

Pain and torture and _agony_ tear through me, ripping me to shreds, violating me and pulling me apart. Flame and _acid_ courses through my veins and it's pain beyond imagining or _endurance_ or even human thought and oh god, please let me die now…

It leaves me almost as instantly as it begins.

I shudder on the ground, and I can still feel the blood pooling around me, cooling off in the darkness. I'm almost numb, now… I don't know, but things seem to be floating away, slightly. I feel drained.

'It's almost over,' Bellatrix murmurs. 'Say goodbye to the world, Mudblood. Pray to whatever useless god you believe in, because you don't have much time left, from the look of you. Lucius will think his darling little Mudblood killed herself. No-one is here to help you. So pray now, and delude yourself that there's something waiting for you on the other side.'

And I do it. I do as she says, and I start to pray.

_Dear Lord. I know I must have done some terrible things to make You hate me so much. All I asked was for You to let me see Lucius suffer, but You wouldn't even let me have that. You let him take away everything. I hate You for doing this to me. Look after my parents for me in heaven, because I know that because of what I did to Dolohov I'll be going straight down to hell. That'll be some irony for Lucius; that when he dies, I'll be laughing as a wait for him in hell. Amen._

God doesn't answer, of course. He has forgotten about me.

I close my eyes.

A delighted giggle rings out in the darkness.

'Yes, that's right, lie down to die like a good girl-'

A huge bang rips through the room, interrupting her.

My eyes flicker open, but I can't see anything.

'What's going on?' Draco's voice shakes nervously in the darkness, but his question's answered just a second later.

'_Lumos!_'

Dimly I'm aware of the room filling with light, and I see a dark figure enter the room. I blink, and slowly, oh so slowly it comes into focus.

It's Lucius. The answer to my prayers.

His face is white with fury as his eyes roam around the room, taking in Bellatrix, whose face is flushed with triumph and rage, Draco, who's actually shaking with terror…

And finally his eyes rest on me. They widen.

I want to say something, but words can't come. There's nothing I could say that would make sense and I feel so brain dead that nothing makes sense to me anyway, and so I mouth the only words that come to me.

'Help me.'

A muscle twitches in his alabaster white cheek, and he strides over to me, crouching down next to me and holding up my limp wrists, looking at them in absolute horror.

He turns his head to Bellatrix for a moment with a look of pure and utter hatred.

'Good god, what have you done?' he whispers.

She stares him down defiantly, her face white.

'You brought us to this, Lucius,' she says shakily. 'If you wanted to protect your precious little muggle bitch then perhaps you should have stayed away from her from the very beginning. Perhaps you should have thought about what danger you might have put her in if you chose to take her to your bed.'

He shakes his head at her, looking as if he just can't even comprehend her.

'You stupid… unhinged…' He seems to struggle for words for a moment, before he looks down at my wrists again, looks down at the blood pouring out over his chalk-white hand, and then he suddenly snaps. 'DO YOU NOT REALISE WHAT YOU HAVE DONE?'

Draco jumps visibly and backs away slightly, but Bellatrix stands her ground.

Lucius turns to me quickly, picking my hand up and pointing his wand at my wrist, magically sealing the cut on one wrist and then the other, but it doesn't help me. My vision's dimming. I grip at the sleeve of his robe, trying to tell him what's happening to me, but I can't make any sound leave my lips.

He turns to Draco with a face like flint.

'Draco, get out. Go to your room, and don't let me see you again this evening. I'll deal with you in the morning.'

Draco's lips thin out as his cheeks flush unpleasantly. 'All you've ever taught me is that Mudbloods are scum, Father!' he bursts out. 'If that's true then why are you sleeping with one behind my mother's back?'

Lucius points his wand furiously at his son, who stumbles backwards slightly, his face completely white, and I can't see Lucius' face but I can tell from the sound of his voice just how angry he must look.

'I would like to believe that I have brought you up to be more intelligent than to believe your Aunt's deranged lies. Now leave, or so help me I'll show you first hand just how effective the cruciatus curse is. Now_ get out of my sight!_'

Draco turns and stumbles from the room, almost tripping over his own feet in his haste to get away from his father's rage. The door slams behind him as he leaves.

My entire body feels numb and my sight goes so dark that I can barely see anymore, only hear.

'Help me,' I whisper, but I can't be heard.

'You stupid bitch!' I hear Lucius mutter. 'What the hell do you think you're trying to achieve?'

'What else was I meant to do, Lucius?' I hear her footsteps move over to stand next to him. If I concentrate hard enough I can see two dim figures standing over me, one of them reaching out to try and hold on to the other. 'She took you from me, but I don't blame _you_ for it. You are obsessed by her, but it's only because she's something forbidden to you, not for any other reason. I know, I just know that if she is out of our way then things will go back to how they used to be.'

'_How they used to be_?' Lucius whispers disbelievingly. 'You pathetic bitch, what exactly do you think there ever was between us?'

A long silence spreads out between them. I try desperately to see what's happening, but I can only see the two dim figures above me, one of them dropping their arms from the other.

'What is it about her?' I hear Bellatrix's voice, but it sounds further away than before. 'She's just a girl. A filthy little Mudblood _girl._ What can she offer you that I can't?'

There's another long silence before Lucius answers her.

'Get out, Bellatrix. Just go away. You've done enough harm this evening.'

And then she screams suddenly. I try so hard to open my eyes, to see what's going on, but everything's dark, everything.

'OH YES, BECAUSE I CAN'T HARM YOUR PRECIOUS LITTLE MUDBLOOD WHORE, CAN I?' she screams. 'You're pathetic! Fucking a Mudblood just because she's so weak and pathetic and needy. If she were a pure blood or even a half blood I might understand, but you won't leave me for a sub-human being, you just _won't!_'

I can dimly see her wrench his arm and point it at me.

'Just stun her, Lucius,' she whispers. 'Stun her, and leave her here to die. All your troubles will be over. The Dark Lord will think she killed herself and you will be rid of this sickness that poisons you. Do it. It's the only way.'

She lets go of his arm, and I can vaguely make out that he's still pointing his wand at me, making his decision, no doubt. Deciding whether or not to be finally rid of his Mudblood burden.

I dimly look up at him, but I can't see his face. But then, do I want to see his face if he casts the spell that's going to kill me?

His arm rises as he turns to the side.

'You ask for too much,' he mutters viciously. '_Crucio!_'

Screams tear through the room; high pitched, terrifying screams of absolute agony. Bellatrix is finally learning first hand just what her favourite curse can do. And Lucius is showing her. All for me.

The screams stop and I hear a huge thud as something hits the ground.

I try so desperately to see what's happened, but I can't see. My vision has finally given up as darkness envelopes me, and nothing makes sense, nothing makes sense, and I'm floating…

There's a muffled dragging noise across the floor, before I hear the door swing open and something heavy being thrown unceremoniously outside of the room before the door slams shut again.

'_Colloportus!_'

There's a long silence before footsteps cross the room, coming towards me, and I sense someone crouching down next to me.

A hand brushes onto my face.

'Mudblood?'

It's his voice. Lucius' voice. I try to cling to it, but it just slips away from me like water and I can't keep hold of it…

'Mudblood, can you hear me?'

I feel a hand slip into mine and I grip at the fingers instinctively, wrapping my fingers tightly around his.

'Speak to me, Mudblood. You need to hold on. Just hold on, don't let go.'

He wants me to live. Despite everything that's happened, he wants me to live…

But do I want to live? Do I want to carry on in this world ruled by hatred, prejudice and fear?

I open my mouth and I push whispers out of me desperately.

'But why?' I ask. 'Why would you want me to?'

There's a long pause, and I feel his fingers tighten around mine.

'You know why, Mudblood.'

Oh yes, I know why. In this moment of bizarre clarity I know exactly what is going on. I knew long ago – before he did.

But is it enough? Is it enough to keep me alive?

'My parents,' I whisper. 'I'll see… my parents…'

I feel myself being dragged up and held vertically against his chest as he shakes me, holding on to me oh-so-tightly.

'Hold on,' he mutters passionately. 'I can conjure up a potion to cure you, I just need you to hold on so you can take it.'

'I don't want to,' I whisper. 'I don't…'

He holds me even closer to him. I can feel him pressing into me. I can feel him, smell him. I try to hold him back, but I can't, everything's so dark.

'I can't see!' I cry out. 'Hold me, please!'

He holds on to me tightly, my head pressing into his neck. His arms are shaking around me as they cling to me.

'Hold on, Hermione. I need you to hold on.'

_Hermione…_

Hermione.

My name. He said my name, once more. I could cling on forever to that name, that validation of being. If only him seeing me as a human being would be enough to save me. It's not too little, too late, because that title coming from him means everything to me. Not just Mudblood, but _Hermione_…

The world falls away around me and I slip into merciful darkness.


	26. The Fall

'_The woman said to the serpent, "We may eat fruit from the trees in the garden, but God did say, 'You must not eat fruit from the tree that is in the middle of the garden, and you must not touch it, or you will die." _

_"You will not surely die," the serpent said to the woman. "For God knows that when you eat of it your eyes will be opened, and you will be as God, knowing both good and evil.' - _The Bible_, Genesis_

* * *

_If I could only reach them- I need to see them, just see their faces again-_

I lick my lips. Dry, so dry. Like licking paper.

_The girl's laughing, laughing- the boys laugh too, but why do they run so fast, I can't see them…_

A strong grip holds onto my hand. Fingers are biting into my skin, bruising it…

_I can almost see them- I can see the girl, her long red curls rippling behind her, but I can't see the others-_

More fingers brush onto my face, tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear.

_Help me. Please help me. Pull me back. _

'Mudblood?'

His voice. It wraps around me like an iron grip and pulls me up to the surface. I'm so close to the fresh air of consciousness, if I could just cling onto his voice then perhaps I'd make it…

The grip on my hand tightens.

'Are you awake?'

'Mmm,' is all I can manage, and even that is an effort.

My eyelids flicker, and light seeps into the darkness I've been trapped in. A dark golden light.

My eyes open wider, slowly. They rest on a tiny golden orb. I blink. A small candle flame. The candle on my bedside table.

'Mudblood?'

I roll my head up to see his face, pale and pointed as usual, and yet so very different. It's set as hard and solid as rock, stretched tight and taut with worry.

He takes in a deep breath and lets it out very quickly as his eyes lock onto mine.

I sigh and shift my shoulders. I'm lying on something warm, and soft…

My bed. And he's sitting on the edge of it, his hand entwined in mine, his eyes refusing to leave my face even for a moment.

I flex my fingers slightly in his grasp, but he still won't let them go.

I'm alive. Somehow, I'm alive. Even though I thought I'd lost every last bit of blood in my body, somehow I'm lying here, looking into those eyes of his, feeling his hand wrapped around mine.

'How do you feel?' he asks, his voice very still and very quiet, just like his expression.

I lick my lips again. 'Tired,' I say, my throat so dry I can barely get the word out.

He nods stiffly. 'I thought you might be.' His voice is clipped. 'I managed to force some blood replenishing potion down you after you passed out. Your body was reluctant to take it, but I managed it in the end.'

My insides freeze. His voice is so cold, so matter-of-fact, but… but I remember…

He continues to look at me for a few more long moments, before he unwinds his hand from mine and stands up quickly.

'I must go,' he says quietly. 'I have things to deal with. But first…'

He reaches for something on my bedside table. I flick my eyes over to see his hand close around a large goblet of dark blue liquid that I've seen once before. He hands it to me, and I take it from him without question, raising it to my lips and drinking all of it down in one go. The horrible haziness seeps away from me as I feel my strength start to come back to me, slowly.

He nods as he takes the glass back from me. His face looks… well, odd wouldn't be a word that could do his expression justice. It's the strangest expression I've ever seen him wear, I can't really describe it.

'You'll need to take a few more glasses to make a full recovery. I want you to have finished the bottle by the time I return.' He looks at me for a few more moments with that strange, intense stare, before he turns, walking swiftly towards the door.

'Lucius,' I whisper.

He pauses, his hand resting on the door-handle, before he turns to face me again, that odd expression still on his face.

What can I say to him? How can I voice the jumble of thoughts in my head that refuse to straighten themselves out? How can I express everything I feel about him at this precise moment?

'Thank you,' is all I say. I can barely whisper the words, but I say them anyway.

He freezes where he is, his face remaining perfectly still, as if he does not dare himself to move.

He opens his mouth for a second, before he thinks better of it and closes it again. He turns to leave, opening the door quickly and closing it quietly behind him.

I look at the closed door, before I roll my gaze up to the ceiling, flickering my eyes over the dark shadows cast over it by the candle, but seeing nothing.

He saved me. Once again, he saved me.

The irony of it is overwhelming – that I owe so much to the man that has destroyed my life.

I thought I would die last night. As I lay there in the darkness, swimming in a pool of my own blood, I really genuinely did think it was the end. But then he answered my prayers and came for me, and snatched me from death again.

And then… he held me. Held me as he thought I was dying, begged me to hold on, for his sake as well as mine, and when I asked him why, why he would want me to live…

'_You know why, Mudblood.'_

And I do know, don't I? It was almost stupid of me to ask him.

I reach over for the bottle on my bedside table and I pour myself out some more potion, drinking it down quickly, feeling all the while my strength coming back to me.

* * *

I sit stock still on the edge of my bed, my knuckles white as I grip onto the mattress either side of me.

He's been gone for ages. Enough time for me to finish the potion and have a bath.

Well, it's given me enough time to feel better, anyway. I still feel a little weak, but I'm not light-headed anymore, at least, and I can walk around the room without feeling dizzy.

I just wish that he'd come back. I need to see him. I need to know.

_But do you _want _to know?_

I sigh, standing up and walking to the other side of the room. I sit down in front of my dressing table.

The face that stares back at me from the mirror is not one I know anymore. My hair is longer, quite a bit longer, and looking wilder than ever. It's darker, as well – probably from not having seen any sunshine for months on end.

And I'm pale. I mean, I've always been quite pale, but my cheeks were always rosy, which sort of made up for it. Not anymore, though. Now my skin is as colourless as the white dress I'm wearing. I look like a ghost; a ghost of a frozen girl.

I look down at my wrists, at the two pairs of thick white lines that cross each other over the visible veins underneath my almost translucent skin. They'll be there for the rest of my life; permanent reminders of Lucius Malfoy and what he's cost me.

I look back up into the mirror, studying the face of a stranger that stares back at me.

My eyes… that's where the biggest change lies. I've never paid much attention to them before. They've always just been brown. Boring, I always thought. But having Lucius as my chief companion has made me realise that a person's eyes can say so very much about them, and I can see that now in my own face. My eyes will never again be the innocent eyes that looked out on the world and saw something that could be changed for the better. My vision has become polluted. Nothing is black and white anymore, only all different shades of grey.

Grey. Like _his _eyes.

The door creaks open.

My nails scrape across the wood of the table in front of me.

There's a click as the door is locked.

Soft footsteps move across the floor, but I don't look round. I keep my eyes steadfastly on the mirror in front of me, refusing to look past my own reflection to see his behind me.

Because I know that it's him. Who else would it be?

A warm weight brushes onto my shoulder. My reflection shows pale fingers resting on my shoulder. Skin on bare skin.

I try to keep my breathing regular. I won't give a reaction. It's always a reaction he wants.

But who am I to deny him what he wants, after everything he's done for me?

_What, like murdering your parents, torturing you half to death, and trying to kill you? Get a grip, Hermione._

A huge engulfing silence presses down on us, like his hand presses down on my shoulder. The warm weight of his touch should be comforting, but instead it brings back that old, unexplainable feeling he evokes in me. Like there's a huge, yawning void within me. A terrible ache that I can't heal.

He eventually speaks, breaking the horrible endless silence.

'How do you feel?' he asks quietly, his voice very still.

'Better,' I whisper back.

His knuckles whiten for a second as his fingers bite into my skin, before he lets go.

I almost want to slump forwards, but I don't.

I chance a look up, catching a glimpse of his face, somehow paler than usual, before he turns, walking to the other side of the room.

I turn in my chair to face him, clasping my hands in my lap.

He stands by my bed, looking down at it, a frown curling onto his brow.

Oh god, what now? He can't possibly have a go at me about the state of my bed – I made it after he left.

I stand up out of my chair, catching a fold of my gown between my fingers for comfort and strength.

'What's happened to Bellatrix?' I ask quietly, trying desperately to get this situation onto safer ground.

He looks up at me, that frown not leaving his face.

'She's… safe,' he murmurs.

'Safe?' I whisper.

He nods. 'I have dealt with her,' he says coldly. 'She will not remember anything of the last twenty four hours. She will have no recollection of what she tried to do to you.'

I sigh in relief. If he's taken away the last twenty-four hours of her memory, then surely that means she won't remember seeing me outside Lucius' room…

But… but I'm still not _safe_. I don't think I'll ever be safe again.

'What about Draco?' I ask quietly.

'I have left him be,' he mutters. 'He's just a boy, after all. And I know my own son well enough to grasp that he would never act against anyone without the help of others. But just in case, I have informed him that should he ever trouble you again, or should he choose to remind his Aunt of her behaviour, then he shall forfeit his position as my son.'

The cold look on his face freezes my blood. 'But he's your _son_,' I whisper.

His eyes are like frozen grey pools. 'And so he shall remain, as long as he chooses not to defy me.'

I think of Draco, of how proudly he's always spoken of his father, of how he's spent his whole life trying to emulate him, to make him proud, and yet it's never been enough.

I feel an unwilling twinge of pity for Draco then.

'I suppose your infuriating disposition leads you to feel _sorry_ for him,' Lucius mutters resentfully, a bitter smirk twisting his mouth.

It's not a question. It's a statement.

He knows me too well.

I open my mouth, gaping at him stupidly.

He breathes a small, mirthless laugh. He steps closer, walking slowly across the room towards me again. 'Don't pity him. He should not have done what he did.' He pauses for a moment, his gaze still locked on mine.

It's a horrible stare. It's violating me, stripping away every layer of protection, and I hate it hate it _hate_ it.

He begins to walk towards me again. 'But then, it _is_ you that has caused all of this,' he murmurs, a dangerous light flickering in his eyes. 'Draco never disobeyed me before you came into the equation. I never…'

He stops as he reaches me, his words trailing off into nothingness.

He's too close, pulling the air tight around me, robbing me of oxygen, stopping me from thinking or breathing.

He reaches up, brushing a stray lock of hair behind my ear. I have to force myself not to shiver.

'You have such a strange effect on people, Mudblood,' he whispers. 'What is it about you, I wonder?'

He brushes his hand onto my cheek. My lungs crush in on themselves as his fingers lace back into my hair, his palm warm against my cheek.

I lean my head back. I can't help it. My eyes flicker slightly before they lock onto his again. His stare is terrifyingly intense.

We're far too close. Our bodies are almost touching. Almost. Not quite.

His breathing is too heavy.

He moves his face closer to mine, his eyes half closed, and a voice in my head screams _stop stop stop _but I can't say that, I just can't.

He closes his eyes, exhaling very quickly as his hand drops from my face like a stone.

He turns away from me, taking a few steps forward, saying nothing.

I stare at him, trying to get my breathing back to normal. My eye catches the fine silver embroidery on the hem of his robes.

Typical. He's always so willing to show off his wealth; always so willing to show anyone and everyone just how superior he is to them.

I don't know whether the pair of us could ever be any more different from each other. I could never dream of showing off my wealth like that, just as I could never dream of torturing people to achieve my goals, of murdering innocent people, of hating people simply for what they are.

Pureblood supremist and naive Mudblood. How is it that the pair of us were thrown together in this way?

But we _were_ thrown together, somehow, and now he's become a part of me, the bastard. As much as I might hate it, he's worked his way slowly but surely like a splinter into my soul.

And I'll never be free of him, never. No matter how hard I try.

I walk over to him, slow in my terror, but at the same time I still have to _know_…

I reach him, looking up into his face. He doesn't look down at me. His face is a cold mask of frozen marble; unmoving, unyielding, because he won't let it be so.

Hesitantly I raise my shaking hand up, reaching up to his face, just wanting to touch him, wanting to break that cold shield he's placed around himself.

My hand brushes onto his cheek, and his eyes close for a moment at the contact, but after only a second his hand snaps up to catch my wrist, holding my hand away from his face but wrenching me closer to him. He looks down at me, his eyes burning with hatred as he raises his wand.

'How many times have I told you not to touch me?' he hisses, his voice harsh.

My lips shake as I speak. 'What are you afraid of, Lucius?'

His eyes flare with temper. 'You will not bring me to this,' he whispers. 'I will not allow it to be so.' He points his wand at my chest. '_Crucio!_'

Pain rocks through me, burning my veins and bones and _muscle_. It hurts, like nothing else on earth it HURTS, a demon of _fire _tearing through me, shredding my _nerves_, but still he looks at me, grey eyes pulling me deeper, dragging me through the walls of flame and poison-

I collapse to the ground, the curse leaving me, finally. I shudder and shudder on the floor, pressing my forehead into the merciful cold stone.

A relentless hand grips onto my shoulder and turns me over onto my back before it locks round my throat, dragging my face up to be close to his again. I can see every little detail of his pale, cruel face. His eyes are huge and dark as they bore into me pitilessly.

His other hand comes up to lace over my cheek again.

'Good god, how did it come to this?' he whispers.

He looks disgusted, and his face is so full of hatred that he barely looks human…

But who's to say that all of that disgust and hatred is still directed towards _me_?

'I don't want it to be like this?' I whisper desperately. 'Do you think I wanted things to be this way?'

His eyes flash with loathing, his mouth setting into a thin line, and he holds me close for a few long moments before he releases my throat, throwing me back down to the ground.

He stands up, his cape flicking over me.

'Get up!' he whispers harshly.

I do as he says, shaking as I stumble to my feet. He stares at me with unyielding, limitless, inexhaustible hatred.

'You are _pathetic_,' he mutters ruthlessly. 'Weak, ignorant, useless. You are an abomination in every sense of the word.'

I press my lips together, my eyes stinging with tears. Because I can remember is what he said to me last night. Those words that meant everything to me, still mean everything to me, because they were the one grain of truth in this horrible world of lies and hatred I'm trapped in.

_You know why, Mudblood._

I sink my teeth into my lip and I turn around before the tears can fall.

A long silence starts to engulf us, sucking us down into its depths, and I'm almost grateful when he decides to break it, until I hear what he has to say.

'Bellatrix was right,' he murmurs viciously, 'you have _nothing_ to offer me.'

Tears trickle out of my eyes at his words.

Nothing can ever make sense with him, and it's all so horrible and complicated, and god, I wish he could just _hate_ me again. I want to go back to how it was when he first captured me. When he just saw me as the useless, irritating little Mudblood girl he had the misfortune of being forced to deal with. When all we felt for each other was pure loathing. I hate having to rely on him and to have his distain and disregard hurt me so much, because it wouldn't hurt if I still hated him like I once did.

'But then,' he murmurs, his words barely audible, 'if you have nothing to offer me then why have I done so much for you? I have killed, endured torture, and lost friends - all for you.'

His hand snakes under my hair, slides slowly down my neck and over my shoulder.

My breath catches in my chest and I just want him to… to…

'I wish that I had never met you,' he whispers in my ear, his hands sliding down to my waist, the warm weight of them resting there for a moment. 'I remember a time, not so long ago, when if I heard your name I had to struggle for a moment or two to remember who you were. To me, you were Potter's little Mudblood sidekick. Nothing more, nothing less.'

His fingers skate down onto my hips. My body ties itself into a knot.

He breathes a tiny, mirthless chuckle.

'Sometimes I want nothing more than to go back to that time,' he murmurs in my ear.

He pulls me back into him. His fingers dig into my hips, and his breathing is heavy on my shoulder. Those relentless, merciless fingers bruise my hips, almost puncturing the skin, holding me close to him, far too close, and in my lower back I can feel-

No. _No._ I won't let this happen.

I close my eyes, and I reach down and grip at his hands. They tense on my hips but I steadfastly push at them, wrenching them off of me and stepping forwards, trying to get away from him.

A long silence spreads out, but I don't turn to face him. I can't let him see my face, I just can't, because if he does then he'll _know_. His triumph will be spelled out for him by the blush I can feel spreading across my face.

'Trying to ignore me, Mudblood?' He laughs darkly. 'When have you ever been able to ignore me?'

I gulp. He's right, the bastard. He can _never_ be ignored. I'd sell my soul for the ability to ignore him...

But how could I ever ignore him? He's always there, at the back of everything, always.

He steps around me, his robes whispering against my legs, and merciless fingers hook into my chin, wrenching my head up to face him. His eyes bore into mine. His entire being is merciless, even his eyes.

_Especially_ his eyes. They're the very worst thing about him, because when I look into those eyes of his I can see every horrible little detail of his soul.

'Do you hate me?' he murmurs.

I look up at him. How does he expect me to answer that? Either answer could lead me into a trap, couldn't it?

'Yes,' I whisper.

He smiles horribly, without any joy whatsoever. 'I thought as much. How could you not, after everything I've done to you?' He moves in closer again, so close our faces are merely inches from each other. That strange little smile doesn't leave his lips. 'I've made you bleed, and scream, and cry. How could you feel anything but hatred for me?'

My eyes start to melt into tears again, and his own eyes darken, just for a moment.

He lets go of my chin and turns from me, depriving me of the chance to read his expression.

But it's not true. It didn't have to be this way. If he really cared… if he were any sort of human being…

'You had a choice, you know,' I whisper before I can stop myself.

He turns back to face me. 'What?' he mutters venomously, dangerously.

I gulp, but I force myself to continue. 'You didn't have to do what you have done to me,' I say, my voice shaking. 'You could have refused Voldemort when he asked you to hurt me. And often you hurt me without even being ordered to do it. You tortured me for hours on end just because you wanted to teach me that I was beneath you. Is it any wonder I hate you?'

His face hardens with cold fury, freezing into a carving of ice. He looks like he did when I stabbed in the shoulder. 'You little bitch. Do you think that I didn't long for other choices than the ones I was presented with? Do you think I…?'

He trails off, and in two steps he's got me by the throat, his fingers bruising my neck, digging in to my flesh pitilessly, making me choke as he pushes me back, and back, slamming me into the wall behind me.

'What have you done?' he whispers. 'What have you done to me?'

His hand loosens.

I shiver in his grasp. One of his eyebrows rises slightly.

His hands slide down, one brushing over my breast, the other sliding around my waist, pulling me closer to him. I can barely breathe. His knee pushes between my knees.

I hit at his arms, pushing at them, trying to get him away from me because I can't let this happen, I don't want to let it get this far. It's against his laws, the laws of the world he forced me to live in, a world I never wanted to be a part of until he made me.

But he keeps his grip on me because he's too strong, far too strong. He always has been, hasn't he?

'Let me go,' I whisper, the words struggling to leave my throat.

In return he holds me yet closer to him, closer than he ever has before. I can see every tiny detail of his face, that face I know so well. Cold, hateful, evil, unfeeling…

'Last night I thought you would die,' he murmurs, his voice very low. 'And I found myself hoping that you would not. Because if you were to die then I would never…'

He trails off. My breath catches in my chest, because no-one's ever been this close to me, ever. I can't breathe or think for how close he is.

My stomach is spinning as he holds me closer, pressing me into the cold stone wall behind me. My hands are pressed to his chest, and I feel the scratches of his robes under my palms.

I'm shaking in his arms.

'You have brought this on yourself, Hermione,' he whispers, but he doesn't say anymore. It's enough. My name is enough. Four little hushed syllables, running off his tongue in a whisper.

But… brought this on myself? I haven't _done_ anything!

But that thought is pushed away as he moves his face closer, and I'm still falling, falling through stars and the night sky and I'm plummeting to earth as he comes closer and closer and I'm going to hit the ground, I'm going to crash, to die…

His lips land on mine, and everything spins around me and I don't know anything except Lucius Malfoy pinning me to the wall, pressing his lips to mine, and I want to keep my eyes open, to stop it from being a real kiss, but it… it sort of makes me go cross eyed, so I close them, and...

My mouth falls open.

So does his.

It's… different from how it was with Viktor, or Cormack, or Ron… oh god, no, I can't do this to Ron!

His fingers entwine around my wrist and bring it up to the wall behind me, up next to my head, pinning it there, and he entwines his fingers in my own. His knee pushes up between my thighs, and I make a tiny noise into his mouth and his kiss deepens, hardens-

God help me.

A small knot is being tied in the pit of my stomach, and I know that this is all wrong. He hates me, and I hate him, more than I hate anyone, and I should be doing this with Ron, not with Lucius Malfoy, the one person I hate more than anything and… why am I letting this happen? Why aren't I kicking and screaming and hating this because I should be hating it, shouldn't I?

The worst thing about it all is that I just don't hate it.

A blush creeps across my face as he hooks his fingers into the neckline of my dress. He lets go of my hand held against the wall to make the job easier, and he breaks our kiss to slowly ease my dress off of my shoulders, pulling my arms out through the neck of it. It gathers around my waist, hanging there, leaving my breasts completely exposed to him. I blush right to the roots of my hair, and I try to reach round to cover my breasts, to save my modesty, but he grips at my wrists and pins them to the wall either side up me, next to my head. And all I can do is stand there, letting him look at me, watching those bottomless grey eyes travel over my body, taking away whatever little bit of dignity I might have left.

His breathing's coming faster now, and when his eyes move back up onto my face they're huge and dark.

I stare up at him.

'You can't do this,' I whisper.

'Indeed,' he murmurs, even as he moves his hands to encircle my waist again. He pulls me up to kiss him again, and this time it's rougher, harder, and he presses his body into mine, and my back grazes against the stone wall behind me, and Jesus, I can't do it, I'm not ready for this…

He pulls back and I feel my legs give way. I fall down the wall slightly, but he picks me up, lifts me up into his arms and carries me over… oh god, over to…

He lays me down on the bed. And then all I see is his face, half hidden in shadow, as he leans over me, his eyes roaming over me, drinking all of me in.

His hand moves to my waist, and then up, up onto my breast. He moves his thumb gently over my nipple.

'Please…' I whisper.

He leans closer over me. 'What do you want?' he whispers.

What do I want? Jesus, I don't know what I want. I haven't ever really known, I don't think. I've wanted him to die, I've wanted him to suffer, I've wanted him to save me, I've wanted him to hold me.

He circles my nipple with his thumb, looking at me intently. 'I want you to answer that,' he whispers.

'I want you to _stop_,' I say desperately, trying more than anything to ignore the sweet tension that's building in the pit of my stomach.

He doesn't laugh, like I half expect him to. He just leans closer. 'If that was what you really wanted you would have told me so when this first began,' he whispers, before he kisses me again.

And god help me, I kiss him back.

No. I should stop, because once it's done there's no going back, is there?

But is there any going back now, anyway?

I gulp. 'I've never, I mean…'

But he knows. He _knows_, the sick bastard, I've as good as told him before.

His mouth twists and his eyes darken even more, but he doesn't answer me. He hooks his fingers into my dress and eases it completely off of my body, leaving me completely naked. I flush with acute embarrassment as he stares at me.

But then he slides out of his robes, and it's… different then. Like we're almost on the same level, somehow.

But I still can't let this happen.

I try to roll off to the side but he catches me by the waist and holds me down. My breath catches with fear.

'Please,' I whimper, 'please, let me go!'

He stares down at me, his face set hard, his eyes deep dark pools.

'I don't think so,' he murmurs, moving one of his hands up to my breast again. 'I'm not going to let you go, not now that I have you.'

He kisses me again, while he pinches at my nipple cruelly. I make a small noise of protest into his mouth, and he groans against my lips as his kiss turns vicious. He bites down on my lip until I taste blood, my _filthy _blood on my lips, and on his own.

I try to break away again, but he holds me fast, and his hand leaves my breast and snakes down over my stomach, down between us, down between my legs…

He breaks the kiss, looking down at me as his fingers reach their goal.

'You have always claimed that I do not own you,' he says, leaving my real name behind again. 'You have always claimed not to be mine. I have often wondered what it would take to make you believe it.'

And his fingers start to _move_.

I squirm with embarrassment and try to look away from him, but he won't let me have that. He holds me firmly by the chin and turns me to face him, to stare into those bottomless dark grey pools he has for eyes.

His fingers still move, slowly, and there's that horrible sweet tension in the pit of my stomach again and I'm a piece of rope and he's tied me into a knot and he's pulling that knot tighter and tighter and everything starts to hum, everything – the room, the air, the light. And his fingers go faster and Jesus Christ, no, I don't want this… but that knot's being pulled tighter and it's like we're floating through the night sky and I can see everyone, everything, because he's showing me everything, and all I can hear is roaring in my ears, this can't be happening, not to me, this isn't me, it isn't happening, it isn't, isn't…

And then everything crashes down around me and every cell in my body explodes and I stare desperately into his eyes before everything goes blank for a moment and the hum slows down, gradually.

He lets go of my face then, letting it fall back.

I lie still, breathless for long moments, before his face looms over mine, a tiny sadistic smile curving his lips.

'You would never believe me, but now you know it is as I told you once before, Mudblood – you belong to me.'

I close my eyes, letting tears slip slowly out of them and roll down my cheeks. Fresh, salty tears of shame and self-hatred, because he's won now, hasn't he? I've let the bastard finally triumph.

But it's not over yet.

His thumb runs over my cheeks, brushing away my tears.

I open my eyes. He's looking down furiously into my face. And in this moment the cold glass he keeps himself encased in is smashed. He looks human in this one moment of clarity. Everything's broken and in this one moment of madness everything about him looks bright and real.

His fingers entwine themselves in my hair.

'What have you done?' he murmurs. 'How have you brought me to this?'

I stare back up at him, my chest rapidly rising and falling as I try to breathe. I haven't brought him to anything, _anything_, he let himself get to this stage, didn't he?

He looks at me furiously for long moments and suddenly, before I've even registered what he's doing, he reaches up and his hand closes round my throat, hard. It seals off my breath and I just can't breathe with the force of it. I start to gag in his grip as he stares down at me with complete hatred and contempt.

'I should kill you,' he whispers furiously. 'You little Mudblood bitch, I should kill you rather than give in to this… this… _sickness_.'

I can't breathe, I just can't breathe, and oh god, he's going to kill me for this. He's going to kill me for taking away what's given his life meaning. I've taken his pure blood cause and torn it to shreds, but I never wanted it to happen this way, I didn't, I didn't, oh god, let me breathe…

I stare desperately up into his face, and as I do his hand loosens, finally allowing me to breathe but then he lowers his head again to kiss me and I go so light-headed from lack of air that I almost pass out, and so I cling onto him for all I'm worth…

His hand moves down, tracing over my thigh. His fingers hook under my knee, spreading my legs apart, pulling my hips up to meet his. I'm trapped underneath him, and I try to move, but it's too late, now. There's no turning back.

His hand moves down to my hip, pinning me into place. His fingers bruise the skin on my hip as he breaks the kiss, looking down into my face with a terrifying intensity.

'You are mine,' he whispers. 'You always will be. Nobody else's but mine.'

He pushes into me and god, he's tearing me apart. Bones are breaking and pain grips me hard as he pushes into me, further and further, and Jesus, are we really meant to be this close?

I cry out slightly, tears coming to my eyes, but he catches my lips in a kiss again and I cling to him, not wanting him to let me go, wanting him to keep me safe forever in his grasp, because only he can save me, and I could save him, if he'd let me.

He starts to move inside of me, and I cling onto him for all I'm worth as he breaks me apart and robs me of my final little bit of innocence, taking me to a place that's far from heaven, and far from hell.

* * *

I lie curled up on my side, my sheet pulled up over my naked body.

I watch him do up the final clasp of his robe. He's fully dressed now, dressed and groomed and perfect as if nothing has happened…

Nothing has changed…

Nothing, nothing, nothing.

But I know that nothing will ever, ever be the same, ever. This is it. How can things be the same after I've seen the look in his eyes as he… as he…

He walks over to the door after a few seconds of silence. As he reaches it, he pauses again.

He turns and looks at me for a moment, his eyes clouded over with darkness.

He just stares at me for what seems like a lifetime. I pull the bed-sheet yet tighter around me.

I feel like I should say something, but what could I say? What can I ever say to him again?

His lips thin out and he turns, opening the door and leaving the room, locking the door again behind him.

I sit up, slowly, and I look at the closed door. Just stare at it blankly, as if it could somehow hold answers for me.

But there are no answers, not any more.

I get up from the bed, bringing my sheet with me and wrapping it round me like a blanket.

I walk slowly over to the doorway and I hesitantly lean against it, putting my ear to the cold wood, trying to see if I can hear him on the other side.

But I can't hear anything. He must have gone. Either that or he's on the other side, keeping as still as I am.

I close my eyes in despair, leaning against the door and sliding slowly to the ground, trailing my hand along the grain of the cold, unyielding wood.


	27. Aftermath

_'Pure? What does it mean?  
The tongues of hell  
are dull, dull as the triple _

_tongues of dull, fat Cerebus  
who wheezes at the gate. Incapable  
of licking clean _

_the aguey tendon, the sin, the sin.' – _Sylvia Plath_, FEVER 103_

* * *

I draw the bed sheet tighter around me. The harsh cotton clings to my sticky body.

I close my eyes, leaning my head against the cold wood of the door. A sigh drifts from my lips as silent tears slip out from under my eyelids.

I feel empty. I am a lone boat out at sea - abandoned and lost.

And sad, so sad.

Everything's changed. Everything. And he changed it, all in one evening.

But then, he's quite adept at changing things. He's changed _me _beyond recognition. I used to be Hermione Granger. Hermione Granger believed that there could be good in anyone if they only tried hard enough to find it. Hermione Granger thought that you could achieve anything if you only worked hard enough. Hermione Granger wanted to change the world for the better. Hermione Granger…

_Hermione Granger was a virgin?_

I gulp down the sob that bubbles in my chest, and I brush the tears away from my cheeks.

But they keep on coming, thicker and faster and hotter. My body is desperate to expel them.

I just wanted to feel human again. Like the human being he so often told me I wasn't equal to.

Why did I need _him_ to prove my own worth to me?

I feel dirty.

I should go and wash. I can still smell him on me. And it's not just the normal smell of him, either. But a sharp, dusky, dangerous smell.

It clings to me. It seeps into every pore, getting under my skin, spreading along my tongue.

I hug my arms around myself, digging my nails into the soft, slippery skin on my arms.

I can still _feel_ him. I can feel his hands on my back, my hips, my breasts, my thighs. Bruising, tearing, damaging hands. Hands that took away what I wanted to remain private.

I'm hurting.

I peel the sheet from my body, and I look down.

My wrists are entwined with strips of purple. His fingers have left their red-purple trail on my hips and the inside of my thighs.

I pull the sheet around myself again, closing my eyes. I press my hands to my face, trying to blot away the memory of his touch. I won't think about it, I won't, because thinking about it takes me down a path I just can't follow.

Why did he do it? Why did he let himself go that far, after everything? After all this time, why did he let it happen?

How did it come to this?

At first, I would never, ever have considered that this might happen. He hated me, that was all. I was only a Mudblood to him. I disgusted him so much that he wouldn't even look at me when Bellatrix allowed Dolohov to undress me.

When did that change? When did he start to think of me in… in _that_ way?

That's an unanswerable question. After all, it's not as if he told me about it, is it?

But then… he was told that he could kill me, if he wanted to. But he didn't. Instead he carried me home, and as we sailed over the lake I felt his hand slip into mine.

That night he watched me sleep, with what was definitely a hungry look in his eyes.

Did I realize what was going on then?

I must have done. I must have. I just didn't let myself think about it, and he was so bloody contradictory, always telling me I was nothing, that I meant nothing to him. I didn't understand – how could I?

Why didn't he _tell_ me? Why couldn't he let me know what he was thinking?

I might have been prepared then, at least.

I can still feel him on me. His lips on my neck, and on my breasts. His hands pinning my hips down onto the bed. His fingers between my legs.

I feel like there's something alive and unclean living, squirming, writhing inside of me.

I'm hurting. I'm really, really hurting.

* * *

Hours and hours pass. Perhaps even a full day passes. I don't know how long it is before I eventually force myself to move.

I need to wash.

I pad slowly into the bathroom and I run myself a bath full of steaming hot water. When it's eventually full I turn the taps off and I drop the sheet from my body before lowering myself into the bath. I land on my feet, the burning water reaching my waist, setting my skin on fire.

But I lower myself in further until I'm in up to my neck. My tangled hair swims out around me, spreading across the surface of the water in knotted clumps.

I sit still for ages, the base of my chin resting on the water. My heart throbs out blood to my body's surface. My skin is a raw, painful red.

How easy would it be just to lower myself in further? To hold myself under the surface until my lungs fill up with water and I'm free?

I could do it.

I _should_ do it. I just can't live like this anymore. I can't live in this world where he knows that he's won.

And what have I to live for? I had my principles, my family, and my friends to live for or, alternatively, to die for.

Now I'm free of those, at least. Nothing's tying me down to this sorry existence. I gave up on my principles within twenty four hours of being captured. My parents are dead. Ron wouldn't want to know me if he knew what I'd done, and Harry's given up on me.

I don't want to live. Not if all I have left to cling onto is the person that's ruined my life.

This way Ron won't get hurt.

But I'm not going to bother praying this time. If God's given up on me, then I'm pretty certain that he won't mind if I give up on him, too.

_The number you have dialed has not been recognized._

I sink under the water, further and further until my entire body is submerged. Water clogs up my nose and clamps it's hand over my mouth.

I keep my eyes open in the water, watching my hair swirl around my body and the stream of bubbles that escapes my mouth.

And it's easy, until my lungs start to ache.

I force myself to stay under. I need to push myself over, I need to be free…

But then pain tears across my scalp as fingers entwine around my hair and pull me up out of the water.

I gasp in huge gulps of air, and barely a second passes before I hear a furious whisper in my ear.

'So you want to die, Mudblood?' The grip on my hair tightens. 'Perhaps I should help you.'

And he pushes me into the water again, his hand pressing down on my head, and I thrash my body about, trying desperately to get to the surface because I don't want _him_ to do it…

I'm ripped up and out of the water again. I cough out half my lungs as I gasp in some more air.

'No,' I half-scream. 'No, please-'

The grip on my hair tightens so much that he's going to pull my hair out.

'When and where you die is not you to decide. It is for _me_ to decide. You always seem to forget that you are not in control here. You never have been.'

And he dunks me under again, holding me under the water, and I swallow huge, painful gulps of boiling water and irrationally thoughts of my old muggle history lessons come back to me; when they'd hold a muggle woman under water to try and prove she was a witch… only this time, _this_ time… oh god, help me, please…

I'm pulled out of the water again, air burning my lungs as he drags me up, right out of the bath.

My body slaps onto the floor as he lets go of me. The freezing cold tiles strike ice up through my skin.

He kicks out at me, his boot crushing into my ribs. I scream as pain smashes through me.

'Shut up!'

He flicks his wand in the air and catches a dark brown bundle of cloth in his hand, which he throws unceremoniously at me.

'Put that on,' he snaps. 'And come through when you're dressed.'

He turns smartly and walks through the doorway to my bedroom.

For a moment I lie still, frozen for fear of moving, until eventually I force myself to stand up and I pull on the robe he's given me. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see him watching me through the open doorway. He doesn't once look away, to prove that he has no reason to do so.

When I'm dressed I take a deep breath and I walk through to my bedroom.

'Come here,' he says curtly.

My legs shake under me, completely unable to obey his orders.

'You needn't be afraid,' he says contemptuously. 'What happened last night will never, ever be repeated. Now _come here!_'

I do as he says, quickly, because no-one could refuse an order given in that tone.

I stop as I come within about an arm's reach from him. He reaches out, pausing for a second mid-reach, before he takes my chin in his hand.

Somehow, god knows how, I force myself not to flinch.

He turns my face this way and that.

I hold my breath deep in my chest, refusing to look away from him for even a moment.

He eventually drops his hand.

'When I look at you I see nothing redeemable, nothing desirable,' he says coldly, 'only the polluted blood of your filthy parents.'

His mouth twists into the cruelest of smiles.

'I tell you, Mudblood, I doubt I ever did so well as to dispose of the two pieces of filth that spawned such an abomination as the one that stands before me now.'

'You seem to forget,' I say shakily, 'that you killed them to save _my life_, Lucius.'

His lips thin out as he takes a sharp breath through his nose.

'You speak with such assurance,' he says viciously. 'I see that you still cling on to the pitiful notion that there is anyone left in the world who cares about you.'

I take a deep breath, struck dumb for a moment by absolute loathing.

'Who do you think you are?' I ask. 'Do you have any idea of what damage you cause? Do you know what you _did _to me last night?'

He whips his hand across my face, snapping my head back with the force of the blow.

I can taste blood.

He grips my arm and twists it up my back. I sink my teeth into my lip as I turn, trying to block the pain, but his other hand twists in my hair and pulls my head up.

And then we are still. My head is pulled back, and his breath brushes my exposed neck.

'You will not speak of what happened ever, _ever_ again, do you understand me?' His whisper is hot in my ear.

I grit my teeth. 'It wasn't '_what happened'_, it was what _you did_.'

His grip on me tightens, and a cry of pain slips from my lips. His breathing is fast and heavy on my shoulder. The pain increases, and my fingers clamp onto a fold in his robes.

He lets out his breath in a rush and pushes me away from him.

'It will never happen again,' he says quietly. 'Never. It was a mistake. And if you so much as mention it again then I shall have you tortured until you can't even remember your own name. I mean it, Mudblood. If you ever speak of that… that grievous error of judgement, I will make sure that you live to regret it every moment of every day.'

The cold, hate-filled expression on his face tells me that I should have no doubt that he really means it.

'If that's what you want, then after today I will never mention it again,' I say slowly. 'But first, you will listen to what I have to say. What happened, happened. And you can act like it didn't all you like, but it won't change a thing. Perhaps you could obliviate me, and wipe your own memory while you're at it. You could remove every trace of evidence that last night ever happened.'

I'm on dangerous ground here, but I carry on anyway.

'But I know that you won't,' I say quietly, 'because it won't change the fact that you came here last night for only one thing. You finally got what you wanted, and that sickens you, doesn't it? And it's hardly my fault. In case you've forgotten, I asked you to stop, over and over again, but you wouldn't, would you?'

His mouth thins out, a muscle going in his cheek.

'You have no idea the danger you are putting yourself in,' he says. 'I could kill you, Mudblood. No-one would blame me. If you were to die in my care, we still have one friend of Potter's to use to our advantage. So you had best keep that mouth of yours shut regarding what happened, if you want to remain alive.'

I clench my hands into fists.

'You'd kill me, would you?' I say furiously. 'You'd kill me rather than acknowledge what you did? Are you such a coward? Or perhaps killing me would solve all your problems - if I weren't around, you wouldn't be tempted. You lost control last night, and now you're terrified by what you've done, and what you could do again. You're a weak, pitiful _excuse_ of a man-'

I feel a huge cut tear into the side of my cheek.

'You insolent little _whore!_' he shouts. '_Crucio!_'

And flame and _ice _and bolts of lightening _smash_ through me, acid is dissolving my _skin_ and saws are TEARING through bones and muscle and it's pain beyond anything, pain beyond _endurance_…

The curse lifts from me, and I'm lying on the floor, my forehead pressed into the ground. I shakily lift my head, looking up at him from under my hair. He's staring down at me with a look of the utmost hatred.

'You are _nothing_ to me,' he whispers, before he turns, walking swiftly to the door. Without looking back at me once he leaves the room, slamming the door behind him.

I lower my head onto the ground again, my body shaking with silent sobs.

I shouldn't let his words hurt me.

I can't be this new person I've become. I can't allow myself to be this new figure he's fashioned me as. I am no longer Hermione Granger. I am now only 'Mudblood'.

Who _was_ the girl I once was?

Hermione Granger believed that there was some good in everyone. Hermione Granger was good, and brave, the brightest witch of her age. Hermione Granger. Hermione Granger…

Hermione...


	28. Family

'_It is the eve of St. George's Day. Do you not know that tonight, when the clock strikes midnight, all the evil things in the world will have full sway?'_ – Bram Stoker, _Dracula_

* * *

And so things go back to normal.

Whatever 'normal' can be.

Every day it's the same routine. I wake up. I get in the bath. I get dressed.

And then I wait for Lucius to come and fetch me, and to take me downstairs to do my chores.

But there are differences to how things used to be. He never touches me these days. He just uses his wand as a threatening device to make me do as I'm told.

And he barely speaks to me, either, apart from when it's absolutely necessary.

And when I do my chores I do them alone. For some reason I haven't been allowed to see Ron ever since that night when the pair of us first kissed each-other.

I'm almost glad. Guilt eats away at me whenever I think about the fact that within twenty four hours of kissing Ron I'd slept with Lucius. He's the best thing I've got left in my life and I've betrayed him in the worst way possible.

But still, I'm worried about him. It's been days since I've seen him. I tried to ask Lucius where he was, and if he was alright, but I just received a snapped answer.

'He's fine, Mudblood. You need not concern yourself over him.'

And when I asked him again, and tried to push him on why I wasn't allowed to see Ron, I received only a punishment for my trouble – a day without food.

I don't know why he won't let me see Ron. I can only guess.

When it comes to Lucius and his motives, all I can ever do is guess.

* * *

I lie still in my bed one night, staring up at the ceiling I can't see.

I can't sleep, but that's nothing new these days. Sleep is proving elusive to me.

I think I can still smell _him_ on my sheets.

The worst thing about lying here awake night after night is after a while I start to wonder why he _hasn't_ come back for me.

Perhaps he's just had what he wanted, and he doesn't need me anymore. Maybe that's it now. Perhaps he's finished with me and now I'm just an inconvenience to him, once again the irritating Mudblood he has the misfortune of being lumbered with…

A small shifting noise.

I flick my eyes over to the corner of the room, my heart thudding in my ears. Perhaps this is it. Perhaps this is the night he's finally come back…

_Finally, Hermione?_

I wait, and I wait. I press my open eyes into the darkness, holding my breath, trying with all my might to listen as carefully as I can.

Nothing.

After what feels like forever I give up and close my eyes, giving up on whatever I just heard.

I need to go to sleep.

* * *

I scrub hard at a silver candlestick, my legs going to sleep from sitting cross-legged for so long.

This is my chore for today. Polishing silver-wear in the parlour. There are all sorts of strange old things I've come across – music boxes, ornaments, cutlery. The old Hermione would have been pretty interested in having a proper look at them all, but now this is just something I want to get done. It's just monotonous to me. Pick it up, clean it, put it back.

My fingers are aching like hell – they've cramped up so many times I've lost count.

I pause for a moment, close my eyes, and let my breath out in a sigh.

_What is the point? What is the bloody point?_

I push that thought down. I need to get this finished.

I open my eyes again, and I rub hard at the candle stick, absent-mindedly humming to myself.

I feel so lonely.

Oh, I refuse to believe that I miss _Lucius_. No, it must be just… basic human company I want. Nothing more.

But still, I'm just so lonely. I feel as if I could die of this loneliness.

What if he is just… finished with me? I know I should be glad if he is, but… but I couldn't stand it if he was. I couldn't stand it if he continued to be the centre of my world while he forgot all about me.

I sigh, putting the candlestick down on the floor for a moment as I stretch my arms out either side of me, trying to ease the tension in my back.

I freeze. The door… I thought the door was closed.

Lucius is standing there. He's just… staring at me, and he doesn't look away when he sees that I've noticed him.

I hurriedly lower my head and start polishing again, trying desperately to ignore him.

_But he can never be ignored._

I wish he'd go away.

'You can stop that now,' he says coldly. 'You are finished with your chores for today.'

I freeze, and without looking up at him I put the candlestick down carefully on the floor.

He takes a few steps towards me.

'Stand up,' he says curtly.

I quickly do as he says, nervously tugging on the skirt of my robe. I force myself to look up into his face.

There's no expression there at all.

'You need to come with me, now,' he says shortly. 'There's something I want you to see.'

I just stare at him, my breathing coming shallow bursts.

'Why?' I dare to ask.

One of his eyebrows raises a fraction. 'You will understand shortly,' he says quietly.

He reaches out, but pauses before his hand can reach mine. For a few moments we just stand still, his hand suspended in mid-air, as if he can hardly bear to reach over the gulf of space between us to touch me.

A muscle twitches in his jaw, and he forces himself to grip at my wrist, his fingers clamping around it.

He pulls a small, familiar key out of his robes, and calls out in a loud, clear voice.

'The cellar.'

And we're pressing into a dark void with no air or space but all I can think is _no, not that cellar, anywhere but that cellar…_

We emerge in a small room made entirely of stone, filled with a dark red light. I remember this horrible room – how could I ever forget it?

His hand drops abruptly from mine. He doesn't want to touch me, he said once, any more than he has to. And it seems that he's reverted back to his old rules again.

It takes me a moment to register that we're not alone in here.

Draco is leaning against the wall next to us. He glares at me, his grey eyes full of suspicion and hate, and suddenly I think that Lucius was too optimistic in allowing his son to keep his memory of that evening when Bellatrix slashed my wrists.

'Well, isn't this a merry gathering?' Lucius drawls. I turn around quickly to see that he wasn't talking to his son. He's talking to Avery, who wears a small, cold smile on his lips. And just next to Avery stands… stands…

Ron smiles at me shakily from where he stands next to Avery. It's a tentative, reassuring smile, telling me not to worry, that hopefully everything will be fine as long as we've got each other here to help one another through whatever they've got planned…

But it's a smile I just can't return. I try my hardest, I really do, but how can I return such an innocent, beautiful gesture?

Ron frowns and walks over to me, holding out his hand.

'Hermione, are you alright?'

He's going to touch me, to try and comfort me, but I can't… how can I let him, after what I've done?

How can I?

I step back from him involuntarily. The look of hurt in his eyes breaks my heart, forcing guilt and love and pain down my throat in a way I wouldn't have thought possible.

'What's the matter?' he whispers.

'She's fine, Weasley,' Lucius says coldly.

'Brought her to see the show, Lucius?' Avery asks, his high, musical voice sending shivers down my spine.

Ron's face colours up as he turns from me to face both Lucius and Avery.

'What _show_?' he asks exasperatedly. 'What are you talking about?'

A smile rises onto the lips of all three Death Eaters.

'Do you really want to know why?' Draco sneers.

'_Yes,_ I _really_ want to know why!' Ron retorts.

Lucius raises an eyebrow. 'I presume you know why we are keeping you prisoner?' he asks quietly. 'You know the reason why we did not kill you as soon as you had provided us with the information we needed from you?'

Ron sucks in his breath, but I can't breathe for fear. Oh god, no, please don't tell me that the Weasleys have betrayed the Death Eaters! If they have, then… Ron can't _die_, he just can't! I need him.

I slip my hand into Ron's, gripping at it. He in return holds onto my hand so tightly I feel like the blood is being cut off from my fingers.

Lucius' gaze slips down to our hands for a moment before it flicks back up to Ron's face.

'I see that you _do_ remember, but it seems that your parents do not share your excellent memory,' he drawls, malice creeping into his words. 'We have not asked for much of them thus far. A little information here, a little errand there. But yesterday we asked them to do something that apparently does not sit too well with them. In fact, they begged us not to make them do it.'

A long silence spreads out. Ron's breathing is shallow, I can hear it.

'What did you ask them to do?' Ron whispers.

'That is not your concern,' Lucius says coldly. 'What matters is that they refused our orders, although they know what could lie in store for you should they refuse us. Isn't parental love touching?'

I close my eyes, feeling Ron's pain at that jibe. I grip tighter at his hand before I force myself to open my eyes again.

I look at Ron. His face has lost all its colour.

'It doesn't mean they don't love you, Ron,' I whisper. 'He didn't say that they refused to do it – it just sounds as if they're reluctant to do something-'

'What's it to do with you, Granger?' Draco snaps.

I close my mouth. Ron looks at me and nods, his lips a thin line.

'We believe that it is necessary for us to show your parents just what their reluctance has cost their youngest son,' Lucius concludes. 'Unfortunately, it does not fall to me to decide just how to punish you. That decision falls to your guards, but I'm pleased to say that I trust them to come up with something suitable.'

I look up to see Ron's face freeze with fear as Lucius turns to Avery.

'He's all yours,' Lucius says curtly, before he walks over to me. My stomach fills with ice, but he just circles me, standing behind me. I don't know how far away he is, or how close.

I grip tighter at Ron's hand.

'Don't worry about me,' Ron whispers. 'It'll be alright.'

Avery's face twitches into a small, cold smile. He walks over to the door, which swings open as he flicks his wand at it.

'We are ready for you now,' he says quietly, and as he comes back into the room he is followed by two struggling figures. One is Bellatrix, her face lit up, enjoying the challenge as she drags the other person into the room. The person she pulls along with her is small, and she appears to be the source of the struggle.

Ron's grip on my hand tightens so much it feels like he's going to crush my fingers.

Bellatrix throws the girl onto the ground, before she turns and walks over to the door, shutting it and locking it with her wand.

The girl lifts her head up, slowly, her eyes blazing with hate from under her flaming hair.

'_Ginny_!' Ron calls out, his voice cracking as he drops my hand from his.

As she turns to face her brother her hard eyes melt into tears. She pulls herself to her feet as he strides over to her, and the pair of them throw themselves into a hug. I can hear both of them crying into each other's shoulders.

'I thought I'd never see you again!' Ginny says, her voice cracked and muffled.

Ron holds her yet tighter to him, almost lifting her off her feet in the hug. 'I've missed you so much, Gin!'

None of the rest of us should be here. This is a private moment – one that only the two of them should be here for.

And Ginny… oh god, how can I face her? It's my fault she's here, it's my fault Ron's here. It's my fault her family have to serve Voldemort. I've betrayed her just as much as I've betrayed her brother…

Well, no, not as much as I've betrayed her brother.

Every hair on the back of my neck prickles up. Lucius is… closer now, I think. He said he wanted me to see something… why does he want me to see this?

'How on earth did you manage to get hold of her?' Lucius asks.

'There was a Hogsmeade trip on this afternoon for Hogwarts students,' Bellatrix says. 'I went along in the invisibility cloak and I found her in the Three Broomsticks with a couple of friends at about six o'clock. She went to the bathroom, I followed her in, and from that point onwards it was easy.'

Ginny breaks out of her hug with Ron, her eyes hard and blazing as she rounds on Bellatrix.

'I came here because you threatened to kill Neville and Luna if I didn't, that's why it was easy for you to bring me here!' she hisses. 'If you'd have had the guts to fight me, then it might not have been so easy for you!'

Bellatrix laughs delightedly. 'What, do you think that a little girl like you could have defeated me? _Me_?'

Both Avery and Draco laugh, but I don't hear Lucius do the same. And irrationally I suddenly remember how angry he was at her when she slashed my wrists. She might have forgotten it, but it seems that _he_ never will.

'You didn't even give me the chance, did you?' Ginny yells, her face red. 'But what else can I expect from people like _you_? You're all cowards, the lot of you. A bunch of sneaking Slytherin _cowards_!'

I suck in my breath.

The laughter is dying away from their faces.

'Cowards, you say?' Avery drawls, stepping closer to Ginny. He towers over her tiny frame, and she shrinks back slightly. 'Are the Gryffindors still as infuriatingly self-righteous as they were when I was at school, then? It's funny how they like to _talk _of bravery, but when it comes down to it they're just as _cowardly_ as the rest of us supposedly are.'

A hand snakes up onto my shoulder. I almost jump out of my skin. Lucius' hand.

What is he _doing_?

Avery steps yet closer up to Ginny. For a moment I wonder whether he's going to touch her face, like Lucius would if it were me.

Or perhaps I should say like Lucius would have done once.

But instead, Avery just turns to look at me.

'Do you see your friend there?' he whispers.

Ginny turns to look at me. I stare at her desperately, willing her not to blame me, needing her to know that I didn't want to do it, any of it…

She sets her face hard as she sees me, and so I can't tell what she's thinking. But then she's always been like that about her emotions – it was me and not her who cried at Dumbledore's funeral, after all.

I wish I could be more like her. I might not be so weak, so pitiful if I were more like her.

'Do you know how long it took for her to crack?' Avery whispers.

_No_. No_. Don't tell her, please don't tell her_.

'I was with her for half an hour before she told me you had been romantically linked with Potter,' Lucius drawls. 'Within less than a week, she had told us everything there was to know about him, and about the Order. In under seven days, she was broken. There was nothing left for her to tell us.'

I close my eyes, shielding myself from the gloating smiles of Bellatrix and Draco, from the cold stare of Avery, and the accusatory glare I think I can see coming from Ginny.

But Lucius' voice continues on mercilessly.

'It was her fault that your house was raided, Ginevra. It was her fault that your brother was captured. She didn't want to do it; believe me, she tried her hardest to resist my… _our_ will, but in the end she proved that Gryffindor's noble values are meaningless when they really matter.'

And though his words cause my pain beyond imagining, there's one word he used that burns into my mind

_Ginevra._

He can call _her_ by name, a girl he barely knows, but he can't call _me_ by name.

Would things have been different had it been Ginny who was captured instead of me? Would she have cracked as easily as I have? Or would she have been strong?

If Lucius had been Ginny's guard, would he have hated her as much as he hates me? Or would her pureblood status have protected her in some way?

If he had wanted her, would he have taken what he wanted straight away, with no qualms, no emotion, no thought at all? After all, it's not as if _she's_ forbidden to him.

'You won't frighten me.' Ginny's voice snaps me out of my meditation. 'I know what you must have done to make her talk.'

I open my eyes. Ginny gives me a hard yet reassuring look before she looks up at Lucius.

'I spent most of my childhood being afraid of you, Lucius Malfoy,' she says. 'You almost killed me. Does that make you feel proud? You almost killed an eleven year old girl just to try and discredit her dad. Tell me, what kind of man does that make you?'

I suck in my breath. Ginny has history with Lucius. Much more than I did before I was captured by him. She still has nightmares, she told me once, about Tom Riddle and the Chamber of Secrets.

Lucius sighs in irritation. 'I have already covered this topic with your Mudblood friend here,' he drawls. 'I have no wish to go over it again with _you._'

And for some reason, some reason I can't fathom, I'm glad that he's put an end to their conversation. I don't want to think about _why_, but…

'What's _that _supposed to mean?' Ginny says.

'I mean that the Weasleys might be pure-bloods, but they're so stupid that to hold a conversation with one is perhaps the most excruciatingly boring tasks one could undergo.'

Both Ginny and Ron go very red in the face, but Bellatrix's face has twitched into a frown. I think she's got the full implication of what Lucius said; that he can and has had intelligent conversations with _me_.

Avery's face remains coldly impassive, but I have a horrible feeling that he's just taken in another little scrap of information – that Lucius and I are connected on a mental level, if nothing else.

Why has Voldemort sent _him_ here?

A ghost of a smirk crosses his lips after a moment. 'So you would not be willing to accept a Weasley as a daughter-in-law, Lucius?' he says, with the tiniest hint of amusement in his voice. 'What a pity. It would seem that Draco would be extremely interested in that particular idea.'

Draco's eyes snap upwards instantly, abandoning the hungry look he was giving Ginny.

Ginny sneers as Ron's fists clench by his sides.

'Over my dead body,' he growls.

'My son would never touch a blood-traitor,' Lucius says coldly, apparently ending this topic of discussion.

Draco's face contorts for a moment at his father's words.

'Well, why-'

But his words halt as he catches the look on his father's face. I can't see what that look is, but I can imagine.

I'm grateful for it. For a second there, I couldn't breathe for terror.

Bellatrix shoots a filthy look at Lucius over the top of my head, before she turns to Ginny.

'Don't look so disgusted, you little brat,' she says violently to Ginny, whose lip is still curled up at the look Draco was giving her. 'You should be proud that a pure blood such as Draco even deigns to _look_ at you.'

Draco gives a grateful little smirk at that as Bellatrix walks slowly over to Ginny.

'Perhaps you need to learn some manners, Miss Weasley,' Bellatrix whispers. 'After all, manners befit one of your blood status, do they not?'

She reaches up into her sleeve, and then there's a flash of silver and the cry of warning barely leaves my lips before Bellatrix slams her hand into Ginny's stomach.

I watch in horror as Ginny screams and doubles over and there's blood, blood, oh so much blood, spilling out from her gut, over her hands.

I start forwards, but a hand of iron clamps down on my shoulder, fingers biting through my robe, warning me to stay where I am, but oh god, oh god, _Ginny_…

'_NO!_' Ron screams, falling down on his knees next to his sister. He tries desperately to press down on the wound on her abdomen, but she just sobs in pain even more whenever he touches her. Bright crimson blood flows over both of their hands.

'Oh god!' Ginny sobs. 'Oh god, help me, _please_!'

'I'm trying, Gin, I'm trying!'

Bellatrix flicks her wand at the knife in her hand, vanishing it, before she chuckles as she looks at her handiwork.

Ron's head snaps up to face her, his face red with rage.

'You… you evil-'

He suddenly leaps to his feet and flies at Bellatrix, raising his fist in a blind rage.

'YOU HEAL HER RIGHT NOW, OR I SWEAR-'

But from behind him Avery flicks his wand.

'_Crucio!_'

Ron falls to the ground, screaming in agony. I start forwards automatically, but Lucius' fingers wrap around my wrist, holding me where I am, forbidding me to move.

Ron thrashes on the ground as Ginny crawls jerkily over to him, clinging to her stomach for all she's worth. She tries to let go of her bleeding stomach to hold him, but she cries out in pain as she does so, falling down next to her screaming brother.

Every scream is like a knife in the heart to me. I begin to struggle again, but Lucius' grip on my wrist just tightens, and tightens, cutting off blood…

And then Ron's screams stop as the curse is lifted from him. He curls up on the ground, shaking and shaking, but somehow keeping himself quiet.

Avery looks down at Ron, and for the first time since I first met him, I can see something other than cold blankness in his eyes. A dark light is dancing there. It's faint, very faint, but it's still there.

'I'll make a deal with you, Weasley,' he says to Ron, who looks up at him with bloodshot eyes. 'I will heal your sister. I will allow her to live. But first…'

He pauses, and Bellatrix's eyes light up with excitement.

Lucius' grip on my wrist tightens.

'But first,' Avery whispers, 'you'll have to fuck her.'

Bellatrix gives a horrible, maniacal cackle.

Oh… oh, this is… this is just _sick_! It's inhuman, it's _disgusting_, it's…

_It's everything their world is about, Hermione._

But they can't… they just _can't_!

I look around, willing someone to say something to put a stop to this. Avery and Bellatrix just seem to find the whole thing very amusing – both of them are smiling widely.

But the two Malfoys are reacting differently. Draco looks afraid. He looks like a baby rabbit that's being caught in an adventure far too dangerous for one so young.

And Lucius… when I chance a look up at him he just looks back at me, his expression calculating. It's not as if he's interested in the situation, only the effect it has on _me_.

Is this what he brought me here to see?

What's _wrong_ with him?

'You can't-' I whisper.

Lucius appears to be the only person who hears me.

'It's not my decision,' he murmurs back, without looking away from me. 'How Weasley is to be punished falls to his guards to decide. I will intervene only if they give me permission to do so.'

I gape at him in horror, before turning around to look at Ron again.

Ron just stares at Avery, his body actually shaking as he sits up on his heels. It's as if he can't even _comprehend _what Avery just said to him.

'You… what did you _say_?' he asks, his voice quiet and shaking.

Bellatrix giggles horribly.

'You heard what he said,' she says, her voice laden with malicious pleasure. 'We'll spare your sister's life, but first you have to fuck her.'

Ron goes so pale that his skin is almost green.

I look down at Ginny. She clutches her stomach, blood flowing out over her fingers. She stares up at Bellatrix and Avery with much the same expression as Ron.

'You're out of your fucking tree!' she whispers, her face contorting with pain at the effort of speaking. 'Both of you, you're both completely…'

She trails off into a gasp as she doubles over, clutching at her stomach.

I just… can't comprehend it. I just can't understand how anyone could even _contemplate_ doing this to them.

I turn around, looking at Lucius, willing him to do something. But he just stares at me, his face stony.

He doesn't care. He just doesn't _care_.

Perhaps I'm hoping for too much. After all, the only time I've ever seen him display any humanity was towards _me_. He's never, ever shown any towards Ron, ever.

And now I know why, don't I?

I turn back to look at Ron. He's just shaking his head in disbelief.

'What is this, a sick joke?' He shifts over to Ginny, pressing his hand onto the gaping wound on her stomach. 'You twisted bunch of-'

But before he can finish Avery moves suddenly and grabs at his shoulder, wrenching him backwards and slamming him on the floor. Ginny screams and tries to move to help him, but like a lightening flash Bellatrix gets hold of her, holding her down on the ground by her wrists.

No. No, this can't go on! It's just not fair!

But even as I start forwards an arm of steel wind around my waist, drawing me back, holding me close to the person that holds me.

'Don't try it.' His whisper creeps into my ear. A wand pokes into my ribs. 'I'm serious, just don't try it.'

'This is no joke,' Avery drawls. 'It's a negotiation. We will heal her as soon as you sleep with her.'

'WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU, YOU SICK _FUCK_?' Ron shouts up into his face. 'She's my _sister_-'

'In that case you should be willing to do _anything_ to help her, shouldn't you?' Bellatrix laughs, her eyes lit up with malice. Her knuckles whiten as she tightens her grip on Ginny. 'What kind of brother won't even _try_ to save his sister's life?'

Ginny kicks out furiously, her face contorted. 'Get off of me, just get _off_-'

Bellatrix releases her wrists but the next moment flicks her wand, and Ginny's entire body goes limp and lifeless. Her eyes remain open; the only part of her she can still move. They stare around the room desperately. A pool of blood gathers around her tiny body.

'Your sister doesn't look long for the world, Weasley,' Bellatrix drawls as she stands up. 'You'd better get down to business, hadn't you?'

Avery laughs a high, almost musical laugh as he pins down a frantically struggling Ron.

'Come, come, Weasley,' he murmurs. 'After all, it's not as if she's a virgin, is it? No doubt Potter saw to that-'

'_SHUT UP!_' Ron bawls, looking almost deranged. 'How can you even… she's my sister, for god's sake!'

Avery points his wand steadily into Ron's face, his expression deadly calm. 'We cannot be blamed,' he whispers. 'Your parents have refused to do as we told them, even though they knew the consequences would be dire if they did so. So in return, we will make their youngest son fuck their only daughter. That ought to shock them into some obedience, hmm?'

It's just… oh god, it's just so…

Lucius' grip tightens around my waist.

Ron shakes his head on the ground. 'Please,' he says shakily, his voice wavering all over the place. 'Please don't make me do this, please!'

'Aunty?'

My head swivels round. I'd almost forgotten Draco was here.

He's looking at the immobile Ginny, his face even whiter than normal with what is most definitely fear.

'Don't you think… um… isn't this a bit-'

'Draco,' Lucius' voice comes from behind me, 'don't interfere. This does not concern you.'

Draco turns to face his father, his expression twisting with fury as his eyes flicker down to see his father's arm around my waist, but he doesn't say anything. He just shuts his mouth like a trap, and looks back at Ginny with a face that's slightly green.

Neither Bellatrix nor Avery are listening, however. Bellatrix strides over to Avery, crouching down next to him and smiling down into Ron's face.

'You know what you have to do, Weasley,' she whispers. 'We want you to fuck her.'

My heart shatters for Ron as actual tears start to roll down his cheeks. I try to struggle again, to help him, but Lucius keeps his grip on me strong.

'Listen to me,' he whispers in my ear, 'you cannot do anything to save him. They'll stun you in a heartbeat as soon as you reach him.'

'Please, you can't mean this,' Ron whimpers.

Bellatrix gives a horrible, high pitched giggle. 'Oh dear, are you having trouble, little boy?' Both her and Avery force him to sit up, pulling his shirt off of him before they force him to lie down again. As Avery holds him down, Bellatrix's shaking hand drifts down to his belt buckle. 'Perhaps we should help you.'

I twist and turn in Lucius' arms, trying to break free. 'Please, stop this, you can't possibly-'

Lucius' hand clamps over my mouth, stopping my words. His arm crushes into my waist.

'Just wait,' he whispers into my ear. 'Wait.'

_Wait?_ What is he _talking _about? Wait for _what_?

_Why_ does he want me to see _this_?

Ron actually starts sobbing as Bellatrix undoes the buckle on his belt.

'Please, I can't,' he sobs. 'Listen to me, I'm _begging_ you, please-'

Avery holds up his hand in a gesture to Bellatrix, who slowly removes her hands from Ron's belt.

'What did you say?' Avery asks.

'I said I'm _begging_ you, please, don't make me do this-'

'Well,' Avery drawls, his voice laden with mocking, 'if you're going to _beg_ us then that's a different matter entirely. Reverence where it is due is a most worthy trait, I've always thought.'

Avery and Bellatrix both laugh as they release Ron, standing up and stepping away from him. He looks up at them, as if he can barely dare to hope.

'We'll let you off this time, Weasley,' Avery says, 'but believe us, should your parents defy us again, then next time you will not be so lucky.'

I can hardly breathe for sheer sweet relief. Oh thank god, _thank god._

Lucius' arm loosens from around my waist.

Avery walks over to Ginny, whose face is wet and shining with tears.

He points his wand at her stomach, and a golden light spreads out over her wound, sealing up the cut, but still the blood remains…

He crouches down next to her, taking hold of her wrist.

'_Finite incantatem_!'

She stirs from the ground, but only slowly. His grip on her wrist remains as she sits up fully, looking up at him in terrified silence, her face pale and exhausted.

He puts his wand to her temple and pulls it away, withdrawing a long, silvery, stringy substance from her head. It wraps itself around the tip of his wand as Ginny watches it with oddly unfocused eyes.

Lucius unwinds his arm from my waist completely. I chance one look at him, but he doesn't look at me anymore. He keeps his eyes steadfastly on Avery, watching him with a tiny frown on his face.

I move my gaze back to Avery, who places the memory in a small glass bottle he pulls out from his robes, pushing the stopper into it when he's finished. Ginny watches her memory swirl around in the bottle, her eyes like big dark holes.

Perhaps she wouldn't have been as strong as I thought, after all.

Avery watches her, his face devoid of expression.

'We shall now return you to your home. We have no more need of you. When you see your parents, give them this,' he says, handing her the small glass vial, 'and make sure that they see it, do you understand?'

She looks up at him as she takes the bottle in her hand, and her lower lip trembles as she nods, slipping the bottle into a pocket in her robes.

Avery steps back from her and aims his wand at her chest.

'And tell your foolish parents not to defy the Death-Eaters again. Not if they want to keep their children safe.'

He flicks his wand at her.

'_Stupefy!'_

Ginny slumps down as the jet of red light hits her, her bright red hair falling over her face.

Ron chokes on a sob and falls on his sister's unconscious body, pulling her up to him and holding her in a fierce hug.

I gulp heavily, my breath coming in short bursts as tears well up in my eyes again.

Unseen by anyone, and so light I can barely feel it, Lucius' free hand bush briefly against mine, down by my side, where no one can see.


	29. Frozen

'_My nerves are turned on. I hear them like  
musical instruments. Where there was silence  
the drums, the strings are incurably playing. You did this.  
Pure genius at work. Darling, the composer has stepped  
into fire.' – _Anne Sexton,_ The Kiss_

* * *

We're pressing into a dark, empty, airless void. Lucius' hand crushes my fingers, and I can't breathe, but it's okay, as long as we leave that horrible, awful place we were just in…

I never want to set foot in there again.

When we finally emerge we don't land in my bedroom, which is where I was expecting to go, but into another room – one I've only been in once before.

I wrench my hand out of Lucius' grip and I turn to face him, fury bubbling inside of me like a spring.

'Why have you brought me here?' I ask, my voice tight and shaking. 'Why can't I go to my own room?'

His expression doesn't alter from the blank mask his features are moulded into. Why should it? He's inhuman. He _must_ be inhuman, to be able to see what we just saw without even a flicker of guilt or horror.

He just turns and walks over to his desk, and I hear the hollow clink of a glass bottle when he reaches it.

'I thought you might need a drink,' he mutters. 'God knows, I do.'

He points his wand at the desk, and as he turns around a tumbler of dark golden liquid soars slowly through the air towards me. I instinctively hold out my hand, catching the glass as it reaches me.

He won't even risk handing me a drink in his quest not to get too close to me again.

I clutch my glass in my shaking hand as he downs his drink in one, quickly, before he sets the glass down on the table again.

'Aren't you going to drink up? I have to tell you that a Mudblood refusing a Pureblood's hospitality is generally frowned upon in polite society.'

I draw back my hand and I throw the glass straight at him. He ducks quickly and it hits the wall behind him, smashing into a thousand pieces.

He turns back to me with a look of incredulous fury. 'What do you think you're _doing_?'

I walk over to him in small, furious steps as I feel all my rage bubble up within me and spill out of me in words.

'You took me down to that horrible cellar because you wanted me to see you and your disgusting friends try to force Ron to sleep with his little sister, and now you bring me here, to your room, and you offer me something to _drink_?'

I pause as I reach him, looking up into his face. He almost looks as if he wants to step back from me, but he doesn't. Somehow he forces himself to stay put.

Without thinking, I reach up and I slap him hard across the face.

'You're unbelievable, Lucius Malfoy,' I whisper.

He looks at me, his face hard. Any pain my slap might have caused him he completely ignores.

A long, hate-filled silence spreads out, before he takes a deep, steady breath through his nose.

'For your sake, I'm going to pretend that you didn't just raise a hand to me,' he says icily.

And for a long time all there is between us is silence as we glare at each other. But it's a silence that's almost deafening. It's full of all the things I want to say, but I can't, I just can't.

It's a silence of unspoken words.

'How could you let Avery _do_ that?' I ask in the end. 'How could you let him _do_ that to Ron and Ginny?'

Once I would have been shocked at the cold lack of emotion I see on his face. Once I would have been horrified at the icy indifference he displays now with the slightly raised eyebrow and the perfectly still lips.

Once, of course, I didn't know him.

'I told you, Weasley is not my responsibility,' he says coldly. 'The decision on how to punish him for his parents' failure did not fall to me. You cannot blame me for what Avery did to him-'

'But you didn't stop it, did you?' I retort violently. 'You just stood there and you said _nothing_ and you let Avery and Bellatrix play that despicable game with them! What would you have done if Ron hadn't begged them to leave him alone? Would you have just stood by and watched as he was forced to sleep with his little sister?'

He shakes his head in irritation.

'You're a very clever girl, Mudblood,' he drawls, 'but at the same time so very _naive_. Sometimes I forget just how much you have to learn.'

'What are you talking about?' I say, gritting my teeth against his jibe.

He sneers. 'Do you _really_ think that it hadn't been planned that we'd put a stop to the situation before it could go too far?'

I just gape at him for long moments.

'Are you telling me that the whole situation was _planned out_?' I ask incredulously.

'Well, would _you_ ever just run into a situation without a plan of strategy?' he drawls. 'Or is that a stupid question? I am talking to a _Gryffindor_, after all.'

I ignore his taunting, lost in my own thoughts for a moment.

'So that's why you told me to wait?' I ask quietly. 'When I tried to stop it from happening, you just said '_wait_'.'

He takes in a short breath, but he doesn't reply.

I look at him long and hard, taking in the frozen skin and the rock-hard eyes. I know for certain that I'm looking for something that isn't there. Why would he feel sorry for Ron, or for Ginny? After all, he didn't feel sorry for _me_ when I was first captured, did he?

But that doesn't mean that I shouldn't try to break into any humanity he might have left.

'Would you have let it happen?' I ask eventually, almost afraid of what answer he might give. 'If Avery had decided to actually make Ron go through with it, would you have just stood by and watched?'

His face doesn't even flicker. He just pauses as he considers his answer, looking at me thoughtfully.

'Avery _did_ consider seeing it through to the very end,' he says, quite calmly. 'But eventually he decided against it. He thought that the mere _idea_ of their two youngest offspring being forced to sleep together would be enough to shock the Weasleys into obedience.'

I just stare at him, open-mouthed.

'And that doesn't bother you?' I whisper. 'It doesn't bother you that Ron would have been forced to sleep with his sister to save her life? You just don't care that both him and Ginny would have had to live with the knowledge of what they had done, every hour of every day for the rest of their lives?'

His expression is stony, and unyielding. Completely and utterly frozen.

'This is the world I live in, Mudblood,' he says quietly. 'And you might hate it, but that's how people like me go about our business. We will do whatever we need to do to get what we want. You know that from experience.'

I feel very heavy suddenly as the cold weight of hopelessness settles on my shoulders. This is the way this world works, this world he lives in, the world he forces me to live in…

I feel sick.

'So forcing a seventeen year old boy to rape his dying sixteen year old sister is just _a means to an end_, is it?' I ask, throwing the words at him like knives, hoping to god they hurt.

He takes a deep breath through his nose, his lips settling in a thin line.

'There's no point in explaining it to you,' he says, his voice quiet and still. 'You claim that you can't understand my reasoning, but you're an intelligent girl. You _could_ understand it, if you tried hard enough, but you just _won't_. Because you refuse even for a second to attempt to see things from my point of view. After all, you might find yourself _agreeing _with me. And that you will not even contemplate, because you would then be forced to acknowledge the fact that you and I might not be all that different.'

He curls a tiny, mirthless smirk, and he takes a step forwards. We're so close, but not touching. He can't allow himself to touch…

I can't breathe.

'You're a little coward, Mudblood,' he whispers, his grey eyes boring into mine. His pale face is just inches from my own. 'You're even afraid of yourself, aren't you?'

I suck in my breath and I turn away from him, willing him to get away from me.

I look instead at the tapestry on the wall. The woman eats the small red apple that rests in her slender hand. She takes huge, greedy bites out of it, quite oblivious to the fact that on the floor the snake glides slowly towards her, its huge yellow eyes devouring her as it moves closer, and closer…

Lucius sighs sharply, and then he turns and walks away from me.

'No-one has been hurt this evening,' he mutters. 'Young Ginevra will go free. We have no more need of her. And Ronald has gone unharmed. In effect, nothing has changed.'

I turn around to look at him then. He just stands there on the other side of the room, his face completely expressionless as he writes off the suffering of two of my best friends.

I hate him for wrecking lives without thought, for believing that it doesn't matter how much suffering he creates as long as he achieves his goals, for… for…

'Why can you call her by name?' I whisper.

He tilts his head up slightly, frowning as he looks down at me.

'What are you talking about?' he murmurs, but there's a note of warning in his voice. He knows what I mean, he _knows_…

'Ginny,' I say quietly. 'You… you call her by name.'

His eyes narrow. 'And why shouldn't I?'

His voice is frozen, and I know I should just shut up, but I won't.

'Why can you call her by name?' I'm almost whispering by now. 'You only ever call _me_ Hermione by accident, and even then very rarely. Why are you so scared of giving me a name?'

I know that I'm skating on the thinnest of ice. But I have to know.

'The Weasleys may well be scum,' he says, his voice deadly quiet, 'but _their_ blood, at least, is pure. Even _muggles_ deserve some kind of title. But _you_…'

He sneers, running a disdainful gaze over me.

'In what context does an abomination such as yourself deserve a name?' he whispers.

I swallow hard, gulping down the tears that threaten to well up out of my throat and into my eyes.

Why was I expecting anything different from him, after all this time?

'Will you ever stop seeing me as a Mudblood, and start seeing me as a human being?' I ask quietly.

A muscle goes in his jaw. I'm balancing on the very edge of safety. And if I lose my footing then it could lead to my oblivion, I know it…

'You do not warrant the title of '_human being_',' he says, his voice like a knife. 'All you are to me is a Mudblood, you know that.'

I take a deep breath, trying to force down my hatred and my sadness. What good will they do me?

But how can he _still _think like this? After everything that's happened, how can he _still_ just see me as Mudblood? After he called me Hermione as he kissed me and held me so tightly I thought he'd never let go, ever…

How can that man be the same person as the one I see before me, swathed in black robes, his expression unyieldingly cold?

'When I see _you_,' I say quietly, 'I should see a monster. But do you know what I see instead? I see you. I see Lucius Malfoy.'

He just looks at me, his expression so strange. It's as if he doesn't want to hear what I'm saying, but he can't help but listen.

'What have I _ever_ done to forfeit my position as a human being in your eyes?' I ask. 'You have tortured me half to death. You murdered my parents, and yet still I can see _you_ as a person; a person worthy of a name.'

'You over-estimate your own innocence,' he says quietly, his features hardening. 'You are not without blame. You betrayed your friends at the drop of a hat. You stabbed me in the arm. You tortured me with a cruciatus curse.'

'You pushed me into every last one of those things!' I say, my voice shaking incredulously. 'You can't blame me for what I've done. The blame lies with you, and you alone. For every action, there's a reaction - you above all people should know that!'

There's a long, horrible silence before he makes his reply.

'Whatever I have done to you, you have brought upon yourself,' he says quietly.

'Yes,' I say furiously. 'You've said that once before, haven't you?'

His face blanches, and I know that I need to get things onto safer ground. This is dangerous water we're sailing on, and I need to make things safe again. I'm not going to give him an excuse to hurt him again.

'Avery said that Ginny was going to be returned to her parents,' I say, almost voicing it as a question.

'Yes, that is correct,' he replies, his relief clear in his voice.

'Why isn't she being kept here?'

I don't know why I'm asking him this. I don't want her to be kept here, but I just need _something_ to talk about with him, to stop things from going too far again.

He waves a dismissive hand. 'We have no need of her. We have Potter's two closest friends under our control, one of them being a Weasley, which buys the loyalty of the entire family. To hold another Weasley under our control would be a complete waste of time and energy.'

I stare at him for a second, but I keep my mouth shut. I'm not going to put any ideas into his head, I just won't…

But he curves up a smile after a moment or two.

'You are wondering if I had forgotten that she was once romantically linked to Potter.'

There's no question at all in his statement.

I open my mouth, and close it again, not knowing what to say to him. I can't confirm it or deny it, because either one of those actions could lead to trouble.

He smiles a little wider. 'I had not forgotten,' he says quietly. 'But what use would an ex-girlfriend of Potter's be to us? It is far more useful to keep people he still cares for under our control.'

'He didn't just care for her, he _loved_ her!' I burst out, forgetting myself for a moment.

'Impossible,' he says swiftly and dismissively. 'If he cared so much for her then he would have never let her go-'

He stops then as he realises his mistake. And I know what mistake he's made. How could I not? Those words he said on the night he came after me at the Burrow still haunt my dreams-

_You will not get away from me. I'm __damned__ if I'm going to give you up. I'll never let you go…_

And I knew from then on that he wouldn't, ever, ever. He'll die before he lets me go, despite the fact that he hates me so much that he probably wants me to die every moment of every day, and all because I've done the one thing that's unforgivable to him – I've made him care about a Mudblood.

I take a deep breath. 'Sometimes, if you care about someone, you can't afford to be selfish,' I say shakily. 'You do what's best for them, even if it means you miss out yourself. Even if it causes you pain beyond all comprehension, you do the right thing for them.'

He stares at me without any understanding. It's as if what I'm saying is in a foreign language – something alien to him in every way.

He looks almost confused.

I take a deep breath. I need to say this. Even though I know what the outcome will be, whatever he says.

'Will you let me go, Lucius?'

I don't know why I said that, I really don't, and as his face sets itself hard with rage, I know that I might have just made the biggest mistake of my life, but I don't care, I don't…

'I beg your pardon?' he says, his voice frozen and still.

I clench my fist, digging my nails into the skin on my palm in a desperate attempt to steel my nerves.

'If you really cared for me, you would let me go,' I whisper. 'Will you let me go?'

'Of course I won't!' he hisses. 'How _dare_ you presume to ask such a thing of me. Do you know what the consequences would be if I were to set you free?'

I swallow, hard, trying to dislodge of the fear that threatens to choke me.

'It would be the end of you,' I say quietly. 'Voldemort would kill you in an instant.'

He nods. 'Exactly,' he mutters. 'And as to your ridiculous assumption that I _care_ about you… you're _pathetic_, do you hear me?' he whispers viciously.

And although I feel the burn of tears, I draw strength from the fact that I know it all to be a lie.

'If you were to let me go, I wouldn't leave,' I whisper, feeing the tears swell in my eyes, because god help me, I know I'm telling the truth here.

He looks at me for a moment before he takes a very small step forwards.

He pauses after that step, looking very much as if he's forcing himself to stop, as if he cannot dare himself to come any closer.

'Are you telling me,' he murmurs, not taking his eyes away from my face, 'that if I offered you your freedom you would reject the offer? That you would renounce any chance you might have of leaving here alive?'

I nod shakily, hardly able to breathe for fear of what I'm about to say. But it needs to be said. He needs to know.

'I wouldn't leave,' I whisper, 'because I know what would happen to you if I did.'

And that's all I say, and I know that it's enough. I may have just signed my own death warrant, but it's said now, and there's no going back.

He just stares at me, looking as if I've just confirmed his worst fears.

'Do not do this, Mudblood,' he whispers.

I start to shake as he takes another step towards me. His face is so contorted with fury that in this moment he looks inhuman, just like his master.

'I don't know what you're-'

'You know exactly what I'm talking about!' He walks over to me, backing me against the wall, fury draining every last drop of colour from his face. 'I will not allow you to bring me to this again!'

'But why?' I say shakily as I back away from him. 'Why not?'

'You know why!' he shouts, repeating words he said to me once, so long ago. 'All my life, I have dedicated myself to wiping your kind away from this Earth! I have killed perhaps hundreds of muggles and Mudbloods. I have torn mothers away from their screaming babies! I have cursed defenceless men in the back!'

I scramble away from him, positively shaking with terror as he backs me into the wall.

'You didn't have to!' I say desperately. 'You had a choice-'

He slaps me hard across the face. I cry out and fall to the ground, but he grips me by the wrists, wrenching me up to face him as he crouches over me. The look of blind rage in his eyes is enough to scare me half to death.

'I have no _choice_!' he hisses. 'And even if I did, I am _proud_ of what I have done, do you hear me? I will not stop until every last piece of Mudblood scum has been wiped out. And if I have to kill a _thousand_ Mudbloods, then believe me, I will kill and kill again!'

I shake in his grip, staring up into those merciless grey slate eyes, tears streaming down my face, tears of agony because I know what he is, I know him, and somehow this monster has become a part of me.

'And what about me?' I whisper, my voice cracking. 'What will you do when Voldemort inevitably orders you to kill _me_?'

He freezes, his face setting hard. But I can see the horror that creeps into those eyes of his. Oh, I can see it as clear as day.

He abruptly drops my wrists and turns away from me, striding to the other side of the room swiftly, keeping his back to me.

I shakily pick myself up from the floor, and for a long while I stare at him, and I know now that we are trapped in this forever. He will be the death of me, one way or another.

'My god, what happened to you to make you what you are?' I whisper.

A few seconds pass before he turns to me, a hateful sneer on his lips, his eyes somehow purged of the horror they displayed just a few moments previously.

'Nothing _happened_, Mudblood,' he mutters. 'There was no life-changing event that shaped my being. I was born, and this is what I am.'

I shake my head, my eyes burning with tears. We _are_ alike, after all. I think I can finally admit that fact.

'Just like me,' I say quietly. 'I cannot help what I am either, Lucius. I was born, and _this_ is what I am. A girl who happened to be born to muggle parents. How can you blame me just for being born?'

I walk slowly over to him, taking small, shaky steps, pushing myself onwards, and onwards, forcing myself to continue.

'We're not so different, you and I,' I whisper as I reach him, looking up into his merciless face. 'You never tire of repeating that fact. How can you think that we're two completely different beings if we're both as similar as you claim we are?'

He takes a sharp breath and turns his head from me, a frown curling onto his face. And when he speaks his voice is hard as stone.

'I will not-'

His words stop as I reach up and place my hand on his cheek.

His skin is warm as I lace my fingers over it, and he closes his eyes for a split second before he allows me to turn his head to face me again. There's almost fear in those deep grey eyes of his as they lock onto mine – a strange kind of fear. As if he's afraid of himself.

'I'm a _human being_, Lucius,' I whisper passionately, 'just like you.'

And I don't know why but I stand up on the tips of my toes and I'm reaching up for him and all in a moment I'm pressing my lips to his.

And even though he barely moves as I kiss him I still reach up and wind my arms around his neck, trying desperately to break through this armour he's encased himself in. I need him to validate my imprisonment. Because of him I can't see the sky like everyone else can, and so in return I want him to make me feel in some way whole once more.

I can feel his arms reach up, shaking slightly either side of me, as if they're deliberating whether to hold me or push me away…

I break the kiss and look into his eyes, and I see there what could be either the wish to curse me into oblivion or an endless, painful longing. And that look shows me everything I'll ever need to know about him.

Suddenly his arms wind around my waist and he crushes me to him in another kiss, moulding his body into mine urgently, kissing me so hard I know he's bruising me, but I don't care, because for now the armour is broken and he could kill me in this moment and it wouldn't matter because through this kiss he's telling me the truth about anything and everything I ever need to know.

Without breaking the kiss he slides his hands over my shoulders, pushing my robe off of them and down my arms, down over my waist until it falls to the floor, and of course it's going to go further, once again. How could I have expected anything else? He's a grown man, whereas I'm just a young girl…

But still… I'm scared. I've still got the bruises from last time.

He lifts me up in his arms, just like he did last time, and he carries me over to the bed. _His_ bed.

He lays me down on the soft, luxurious bedcovers, but I don't have a moment to wonder at the comfort of them because he sits down next to me, his gaze running over me like warm water. He doesn't take his eyes off of me as he pulls his own robes off, removing every layer of those luxurious robes he so favours, stripping the evidence of his wealth and power away.

His skin is so ice-white that I know his touch should be cold, but it isn't, it's so warm. As his hands move over my body, exploring every last bit of me, their touch isn't cold at all, but scalds my skin in ways I hadn't thought possible.

Eventually he moves above me, staring down into my face with such a terrifying possessiveness that I almost want to try and run away again, but I can't, because I need this moment of truth from him. He's going against every principle he ever had dear in this moment, and it's all for me, which surely shows how much I must mean to him.

He moves my legs apart and his eyes lock onto mine as I reach up and tangle my fingers in his hair.

His face flickers for a moment. I think for a second that perhaps he can see the fear in my eyes, just as clearly as I can see the need in his.

He pushes into me again, and it still hurts a little, though no where near as much as it did before. This time I don't cry out, I just shakily reach out for his face and pull him down to kiss me again, because I need him to kiss me. If he kisses me, I can allow myself to believe that we're just a normal couple who deeply care about each other, perhaps even love each other, instead of the hate and guilt filled pair that we are.

Because that _is_ what we are. Two people that hate each other more than anything else in the world.

And it's nothing like how it should be. I'm not here with Ron, with someone I love and who I know cares deeply about me, but instead I'm here with a Death-Eater, the man who murdered my parents, who tore me down time and time again, without pity and without mercy…

But I know that, for me, at least, there is no choice.

He breaks the kiss and he rolls over, sitting up so that I'm sitting astride him and he starts moving inside me in a slow, steady rhythm. I move with him as he holds me close to him, so tightly that I can feel bruises coming up on my skin where he clutches at me. And I feel his teeth on my neck, biting down hard, so hard he pierces the skin and I cry out in pain, because it hurts, but he doesn't care, the bastard, he just doesn't care. He's always relished causing me pain, hasn't he?

He breaks away from me. There are tiny droplets of blood on his lips. My blood. My _filthy_ blood.

His hand snakes down between us, down between my legs, and my breath comes in short gasps as he strokes and pinches, and he groans low in his throat as I gasp all the more, because the whole room is buzzing and alive and there are colours and stars everywhere and I'm going to crash and burn with this need, I know it…

And then electricity rocks through me as every last atom in my body combusts with the heat and I'm breathless as his hand moves back to my hip so that all ten of his fingers are digging into my hips, almost tearing the skin open and drawing up blood…

I cling on to him as hard as I can as his movements grow more uneven until eventually he groans and pulls my hips down towards his with such force I feel like he's breaking bones, and I cry out and so does he…

And then everything's quiet.

I press my forehead into his shoulder as the pair of us sit still, still entwined with one another, not knowing what to say or think or feel…

I can feel his breathing, heavy and hot on my shoulder, as he winds his fingers round the back of my neck, pressing my forehead harder into his skin.

Long moments pass, but neither of us move. And suddenly I remember what I want to ask him, what I really want to ask him.

'Why did you take me to see what Avery did to Ron and Ginny?' I whisper, my voice weak.

A few seconds go by as the fingers on one hand dig into my neck, while the others dig into my back. I hear him sigh, feeling it flutter on my bare shoulder.

'I needed you to realise just how low people like me are prepared to go to punish those who have displeased them.'

I open my eyes and I pull back from him, looking into his hazy eyes.

'But I already knew that,' I whisper. 'You've shown me yourself time and time again, remember?'

His face flickers slightly before he shakes his head. 'Be that as it may, for quite some time I have also protected you, perhaps more than you know.' He stares at me for a few moments, his gaze locked onto mine, before he turns his face from mine. 'But after what we have done…'

He pauses, and takes a deep breath before he carries on, still without looking at me.

'I cannot protect you anymore, Hermione.'

I stare at him, absolutely terrified at his words, and yet I know that it doesn't matter. None of it really matters. Because he named me once again. He can fight it kicking and screaming, but he truly sees me as a human being now, in spite of himself. And that validation of being coming from him is worth everything. It is enough. His validation will protect me. It will save me.

I untangle myself from him and I roll off of him, and the pair of us lie down on the bed, staring up at the canopy above us, neither of our bodies touching apart from our hands, which hold onto each other so tightly I know that he'll never let me go, ever...

Ever.


	30. Hate

_'I wish I could hold you, till we were both dead! I shouldn't care what you suffered. I care nothing for your sufferings. Why shouldn't you suffer? I do!' _- Emily Bronte, _Wuthering Heights _

_'Methought a serpent ate my heart away, and you sat smiling at his cruel prey.' - _William Shakespeare,_ A Midsummer Night's Dream_

* * *

I lie still on my back, one arm curled up above my head. My press into the pitch-black darkness that covers me like a blanket.

It's been perhaps a week, maybe two, maybe even three since Ginny was captured and set free again.

Perhaps a week, maybe two or three, since Lucius told me that he cannot protect me anymore.

I sigh. It's tedious, being alone in the dark, but I only have to wait. Just for a couple of hours. But he will come. He always comes for me.

Perhaps it will be one of those nights I have to wait for hours. Those are the nights he's trying to keep away from me, I know it. The nights he tells himself that he needs to stop. But he's always here, in the end.

A small creak in the darkness, and then a quiet click…

He's here.

I didn't have to wait that long, tonight.

I flick my eyes to the doorway I can't see through the pitch black darkness, wishing more than anything that I could see him. But there won't be any light. There is never any light. He won't let himself see what he's doing…

Footsteps. Slow moving, quiet footsteps, moving cautiously across the floor.

I shiver, telling myself it's from the cold.

A warm weight settles next to me on the bed. Breathing. Soft, and steady.

I shiver, but I'm not cold. I've still got my robe on, even if I'm lying on top of the bed covers. Because while I still have enough dignity to wear a robe, I've apparently sunk so low that I just lie on top of the bed covers, waiting for him, not even bothering to add that extra layer of resistance anymore.

What's he done to me?

Long fingers hook into the neckline of my robe, pulling it down off of my shoulders, down until it gathers around my waist. The cold air skims and spins over my bare skin, pulling up goose bumps.

A jolting shiver runs through me as my body temperature drops.

I'd be warm if he held me. But he won't. He never holds me until he has to. If he held me he would be entertaining the possibility of some sort of emotional connection, after all.

Which, I suppose, is probably almost as shameful to him as the physical connection he has to a _filthy Mudblood_.

Silent darkness swallows my breathing, which is quick with the cold.

And something else.

A hand cups my breast, a thumb and a finger coming together to catch my nipple, tugging at it slightly, sending a jolt of electricity to the pit of my stomach.

My breathing quickens, ever so slightly. His does too. I can hear it.

Not for the first time, I consider the option that it could not be him at all. For the past few weeks these… visits have only taken place in the dark, just so that he doesn't have to see that it's a Mudblood that he… that he's…

It could be anyone, really.

But I know that it isn't just _anyone_. As he pulls my robe completely off of my body, and I hear the whispering noise as he pulls off his own robes, I know that it's him. I can _smell_ him. That sharp, musky, dangerous smell of _him_. Him without clothes or pride or any kind of protection.

Nerves tighten my insides, as they always do whenever he comes here. He might have let his guard down, given up everything for me, but that doesn't stop me from living in absolute terror of him. The memories of everything he's done to me can't fade all that easily.

Besides, I can't tell whether this is going to be one of those nights when he hits me hard across the face, without a word, before storming from the room.

But even if he does, he'll come back, eventually. He always comes back.

I feel the warm weight of him as he lays himself down next to me, and I reach up through the darkness. The skin on his cheek brushes against my fingers – the slight roughness, and the warmth. But in a moment he catches my hand, and pulls it away from his cheek, turning it over so that my palm faces him. His thumb moves down my lifeline, leaving tiny tingles of sensation in its path.

He brings my hand back to his face and he presses his lips to my open palm. I can feel him inhale against my skin.

He lets go of my hand, and in the long silent moments that follow I tense my body up, waiting for a slap or a punch…

But instead his lips land on mine, kissing me gently at first and then deeper, harder, and I feel his hand around my throat, not too hard, but the pressure's definitely there, as if even now, right now, he's debating whether it would be better to just kill me…

But he won't. Not this time, anyway. As he moulds his body into mine urgently, so urgently that it feels as if he wants to crawl right under my skin, I know that for now, at least, I am safe.

He breaks the kiss and moves down my body, pushing my legs apart as he kisses his way over my chest, and I know that perhaps he'll never stop hating me, and I'll never stop hating him. I'll never stop hating him for everything he's done, and he'll never stop hating me for everything I am.

That doesn't change a thing, though. Because hate is part of the reason all this is going on anyway, isn't it?

One thing I've learned is that hate and love aren't all that different. They're both the strongest emotions you can feel towards a person. They both make your heart beat faster, and your body go hot and cold.

If Lucius and I can't have love, we can have hate in its place.

He kisses down my torso, pushing my legs wider apart and I _hate_ how he always comes here in the dark, just because he can't really face up to what he's doing, but then who am I to deny him that small mercy, really? After all, he's giving up so much for me… all his beliefs, his ideals, which to him meant everything, everything…

He trails his kisses over my stomach, and down further, and if he's letting every principle he's ever had go just for me, then surely I can allow him the merciful darkness to hide his sins…

His lips move lower.

My breathing quickens.

I'll let him have the darkness he desires. I'd do anything for him, anything.

* * *

I scrub hard at the skirting board in the dining room, using muscles I never even knew I had in my effort to scrape away all the grime that coats it.

It might be a little easier if they'd given me more than a bloody dishcloth to do it with, for crying out loud.

I wish Ron were here. But there' no point in hoping for that. We're not allowed to work together anymore, I don't think. I only have myself for company these days.

My dad used to say you're never alone, as long as somebody loves you.

He was a bit soft really, my dad. He used to get a emotional about stupid things. Like classic films, and sad songs. I remember watching _Brief Encounter _with him, and how he used to cry at the end as Trevor Howard put his hand on Celia Johnson's shoulder, saying goodbye to her without words.

Mum used to laugh at him, and call him a soft old bugger. He didn't mind, though. He'd laugh along with her, agreeing with every word she said. He loved her so much that he'd have probably agreed with her if she'd said the sky was purple.

Whenever I looked at them, I used to think that whoever I married, I wanted us to have a relationship like my mum and dad had. Loving. Teasing. Comfortable.

And happy.

I thought once that perhaps Ron and I could have that kind of relationship, if we ever got together. I thought that Ron could be the person who could provide that sort of love for me. That teasing, comfortable happiness that my mum and dad had.

But now… what do I have now?

Now I have Lucius coming to me every night, in the dark so that he doesn't have to face up to the fact that it's a Mudblood he's _fucking_, and yes, I'm using that word for it. What else am I going to say, _making love_?

What am I doing? Is any of this really worth it? What the hell am I getting out of this?

Just what am I doing to myself?

I don't know. It's just that when Lucius holds me and kisses me it's like… like I can feel whole again. Because in that moment he must see me as a human being; something worth giving up everything he's ever held dear for. In that moment I'm not just a Mudblood to him. I am Hermione. And I am worth everything.

'Miss Granger?'

My head snaps up, hope leaping up in my heart, only to die down again when I see who it actually is.

Avery stands in the doorway, his expression, as always, closed, calm and serene.

'_You_?' I spit out the word, bubbling over like a pot on a stove. 'What do _you_ want?'

He raises his eyebrows slightly, but apart from that his expression remains unaltered.

'You're angry?' he says, with no expression in his voice at all. 'Why would you be angry, Miss Granger?'

I stare at him. If it were Lucius, I would know exactly how to answer him. I would rant and rail at him, trying hard to scrape away at the surface until I managed to glean a little bit of humanity out of him.

But I don't really know how to handle Avery.

'Do you even have to ask?' I hiss, gripping at the cloth in my hand in a nervous reflex.

That serene expression doesn't leave his face, not for one bloody second.

'You are upset about what I did to Weasley and his sister, I presume?' he asks, quite calmly.

If it were Lucius I were talking to, he wouldn't have voiced that as a question. He knows me too well, far too well, while Avery doesn't know me at all.

I wish Lucius _were_ here. I really, _really_ don't know how to deal with Avery while I'm on my own.

'How could you do that to them?' I ask furiously. 'How could you even contemplate… it's evil, can't you understand that?'

A tiny smile curves his lips, but his eyes remain empty. Not cold like Lucius', but completely blank.

'You shouldn't blame me for what you saw,' he says quietly. 'It was not _my_ idea to take you to see what happened. That was all Lucius' doing.'

I try to school my expression into one of calm. I can't let him know what I'm thinking, I just can't.

'After all,' he says quietly, 'I don't see why _you _should have seen what happened. It's not as if the events concerned you in any way. But then, Lucius must have had his reasons, I suppose.'

_He knows, _I think desperately, and for one moment my breathing stops in pure terror.

But his expression doesn't change.

'But where are my manners? You are probably wondering why I have come to see you,' he says, and he doesn't wait for me to reply. 'Your friend Weasley. He's been rather… apathetic. He can't work himself up into a suitable state to even leave his room, let alone do his chores.'

My heart tears itself in two. Oh god, Ron, what have they done to you?

'I think that you might be the one person who can pull him out of it,' he goes on. 'And unlike Lucius, _I _do not see any harm in asking a Mudblood for help, if the occasion calls for it.'

_He KNOWS!_

Oh god, oh god. I need to breathe. I need to calm down.

'So,' he says curtly, turning so that the doorway is clear, 'will you come to visit him now? Or would you prefer to wait until your chores are done?'

I gulp down hard, trying to swallow my fear. I need to focus. Ron needs me, and I can't let him down.

Shakily, I step forwards and walk quickly towards the door, and Avery curves a tiny smile, turning and leaving the room, leading me out into the hallway. I follow him as he walks me through identical corridor after identical corridor, winding us through the house.

He can't know, can he? I mean, he might suspect, but does he really _know?_

Well, no, of course he doesn't. No one really knows for certain. Only Lucius and I have the knowledge of what's really going on.

We turn a corner and he leads me up a winding staircase, up and up and up.

But… but Voldemort suspected us, for a while. He even questioned me about it, after Lucius came after me at the Burrow rather than Harry.

But I thought I convinced him that nothing was going on. And there wasn't, at the time. I wasn't even really lying.

I mean, Avery was only posted here to replace Dolohov, wasn't he? Even if he _does_ suspect anything, it's not his business, surely? Perhaps he'll just… leave things alone.

No, this is just silly. He doesn't know anything, he can't do. All he can possibly have is his suspicions, nothing more.

I need to pull myself together.

The pair of us eventually reach a small doorway a lot like the one for my own bedroom, right at the top of the stairs.

Avery opens this door with a flick of his wand, and the pair of us step into the room. I recognize it immediately. Ron's bedroom.

He looked after me the last time I was here, when my parents had died and I felt like my world had ended. Today it's my turn to look after him. And by god, it looks like he needs me to look after him now.

He sits on the floor, his back pressed against the wall, and he doesn't look up as we come in the room. He hugs his knees closer to his chest, staring resolutely at the floor.

'You have a visitor, Weasley,' Avery says curtly, almost as if he's giving an order of some kind.

Ron still doesn't look up.

Avery turns, fixing me with his blank stare.

'I'll leave you to it, Miss Granger,' he says, very quietly, before he walks around me. I don't speak until I hear the door click shut behind me.

'Ron?' I say quietly.

He still looks blankly at the floor, his eyes hollow and dead.

I walk over to him slowly, crouching down next to him when I reach him. I need to be gentle.

'Ron,' I say tentatively, 'are… are you alright?'

He doesn't look up at me.

'Do I look it?' he says, but he doesn't sound angry at all.

'No, I'm sorry,' I say, very quietly.

A long silence spreads out while I try to think of what to say. But what could I say to him? How can I comfort him, after what Avery and Bellatrix did?

Ron eventually speaks up before me.

'They tried to make me fuck my sister,' he says, his voice low.

Tentatively, I reach out for him. He flinches as I brush my hand onto his shoulder, but I still hold on. He has nothing to be ashamed of, he needs to know this.

'It's okay,' I say quietly. 'Nothing happened. Ginny's alive, and they stopped before it could go too far.'

He looks up at me then, his eyes like huge caverns.

'But what if they hadn't?' he whispers. 'What if they actually went ahead with it? What if they continued to refuse to heal her, until I fucked my own little sister?'

I don't reply. I feel words forming on my lips, but I know that none will help him. How many times must he have contemplated this?

Will he even be able to _look_ at Ginny again?

I hate Bellatrix and Avery. They've taken a brother and sister, and destroyed their relationship. All those moments Ron and Ginny have shared – playing Quidditch together, laughing together, mucking around together as children – all of those memories have been ruined forever, now.

I take my hand from his shoulder and move it down, gripping at his hand with it. His fingers are cold and lifeless.

'I couldn't do it, Hermione,' he says eventually, very quietly. 'I just couldn't, even though it would have meant that she would have died.' He pauses for a moment. 'How _could _I do it? I couldn't fuck my own sister, I just couldn't.'

He takes a deep breath, and his eyes start to swim with tears.

'But how could I condemn my own sister to death?' His voice cracks and wavers all over the place as he speaks. 'I would have preferred her to die than have to do that. What kind of brother does that make me? I would have let my own sister die, just because I didn't have the guts to save her...'

He trails off, his face collapsing into tears, and without hesitation I reach over for him, pulling him into the tightest of hugs. I take all of his weight as he sobs into my robes.

I pull back and take his face in my hands, looking him straight in the eye.

'Listen to me,' I say firmly. 'None of this was your fault. These people are sick bastards. They're the ones who should feel guilty. You love Ginny, and you'd never do anything to harm her. She would have rather died than let you do what they wanted you to do to save her, I'm sure of it.'

He pauses for a second. I watch his tears dry a little as my words sink in.

Eventually, he nods shakily, his face firming up a little.

'I couldn't do it, Hermione,' he says again, and I clutch at him even harder.

'I know,' I say, feeling tears catch in my throat. 'I know, it's okay. Nobody could do _that._'

His face collapses into tears again, and I hold him closer to me once more, cradling his head to my shoulder.

'You mustn't torture yourself,' I whisper, rocking back and forth as he clings to me, his whole body racked with sobs.

The shoulder of my robe grows wet with his tears. It's like my heart is breaking with his. What has he done to deserve this? What has he _ever_ done to deserve this?

I swear then that if I ever, ever get the chance, I will punish Bellatrix and Avery for what they have done to Ron. I will make them suffer so much that they won't know what to do to help themselves. They will know first hand, I swear it, just what kind of pain they have put my best friend through.

Ron's sobs slow down, eventually, finally only coming in small bursts.

'I'm so sorry, Hermione,' he says eventually, his voice hoarse.

I pull back from him.

'What have you got to be sorry for?' I ask.

He takes a deep breath. 'For crying all over you,' he says, a tiny flush spreading across his face. 'I know that what I'm going through is nothing compared to what you've been through.'

'Don't talk like that,' I say firmly. 'You've been through some awful things this week, and it's upset you. That's more than fair enough.'

I sit back slightly, looking him straight in the eye.

'You've got to cling onto the fact that your family is still alive, Ron,' I say steadily. 'What happened was terrible, but it's done now. You have a chance of seeing your family again. Hold onto that. I would kill for an opportunity like that.'

I didn't mean for that to sound quite so self-pitying, but it did, somehow. I can't help it, though. I miss my parents so much.

Ron nods, his tears drying up.

'I know, Hermione, I'm so sorry-'

'Don't be,' I say quietly, squeezing his hand. 'But remember that things could have been so much worse. Ginny could have been killed, but she wasn't. You must cling onto that, because that's the only thing that really matters.'

He smiles, shakily.

I scoot up next to him, resting my head on his shoulder as he puts an arm around me. The warmth of him comforts me like nothing else on earth, and I know that this is how things should be. Me and Ron.

But things can't be this way anymore, can they? Not now that Lucius has torn through our relationship, leaving nothing but wreckage in his path.

But for now, that doesn't matter. I wind my hand into Ron's, and he clings back onto mine. We don't speak that much, and when we do speak we don't talk about anything in particular, but none of that matters. I know I've held Ron up and helped put him back together again. And he can do the same for me, when I need him to.

I can cling onto him. He's the only good thing I have left in my world, now.

* * *

I pace around my room, walking slowly in the widest circles I can manage in such an enclosed space.

I look down at my feet as I walk, trying to get them in the most direct line possible. One foot directly in front of the other, over and over again.

I've got to do something to keep myself from tearing my own hair out with sheer boredom.

It's been hours since Avery brought me back up here. When he eventually returned, he seemed to be quite pleased with the 'work' I'd done with Ron.

Well, I'm guessing he was, anyway, or why else would he have brought me back here?

I don't know. With Avery, my guess is that he'd look the same if you told him the world was ending than he would if you gave him a million galleons. His expression never alters.

I haven't had anything else to do since I was brought back here. All I've done is pace around my room in circles, occasionally running through some of my old school books in my head.

What I can remember of them, anyway.

The door clicks, and then swings open sharply.

I freeze where I am as Lucius enters my bedroom, closing the door quietly behind him.

There's no expression on his face at all.

Is he… what's he here for?

It can't be for… for _that_. He never comes here for that until much later, after he's put the candles out for me to go to bed.

But then… it might be quite late anyway. I don't know. It must have been a few hours ago when I had my dinner, so perhaps it is quite late…

But if he's here for that, then why is he here in the light?

I try to breathe calmly, despite the fact that he's not coming any closer. He's just standing there, looking at me with a completely closed expression.

He's guarding his emotions for some reason, but why I do not know.

'I gather you went to see Weasley today,' he says, his voice little more than a murmur. Quiet. Careful. Guarded.

I answer carefully, but I don't say anything but the truth. 'Avery said Ron has been depressed ever since what happened with Ginny. He needed somebody to bring him out of it.'

He curls up a tiny sneer. 'And I suppose you're the only person in the world who can do that, are you?' he says, hard irritation creeping into his voice.

I just look at him. 'Well, who else would you suggest? Bellatrix, maybe? I'm sure she'd be a great little comfort to a boy who thinks he's lost everything.'

His mouth twists up into what might be a tiny smirk, just for a second, before a frown clouds his brow.

'Avery took you to Weasley's room?' he asks.

I lower my eyebrows. 'That's what I said.'

He tuts in irritation, shaking his head.

'He should have asked my permission to take you,' is all he says.

I feel a twist of anger, deep in my gut. He _still_ thinks he owns me, the bastard…

_Well, he does, doesn't he?_

'I'm not a possession of yours that people need permission to borrow,' I say, my voice hard.

He just looks at me, his face cold, but not unfeeling. It's just stiff. It's an expression I know well – it's the one he wears when he's trying to keep control.

'What exactly is there between you and Weasley?' he asks. There's no real expression in is voice – only quiet stillness.

I just stare at him. Whatever I was expecting him to say, it certainly wasn't that.

'What does it matter?' I ask sharply.

He takes a deep breath through his nose, looking at me through narrowed eyes.

'Answer the question, Mudblood.'

'Nothing!' I snap back, my temper fraying at the edges. 'There isn't anything between us, alright? Not anymore.'

I almost want to add 'thanks to you', but I don't. That would be against the rules. That would be hinting at some kind of… emotional connection with him, which I know I'm just not allowed to do.

'It doesn't seem like 'nothing',' he says quietly. 'I've seen the pair of you together frequently, and I know that there's definitely something between you.'

Something deep within me shatters. What _right_ does he have to talk to me like this? What _right_ does he have, when everything between me and Ron used to be so simple before _he_ came and complicated everything, complicated our relationship, complicated _me_…

'Well, if you want to go down that route,' I say shakily, 'why don't you tell me about what used to be between you and Bellatrix? Why don't you tell me what there is between you and your _wife_?'

And the word 'wife' seems to throw him, as just for a second I can see his eyes flash in temper. She's forbidden territory for me, I know.

But I want to know about her. She's just this… this remote figure to me. Like a beautiful sculpture I've only seen pictures of.

I'm sleeping with her husband. Betraying her in one of the worst ways possible. And I don't even know her.

But that doesn't stop every pore in my body oozing shame whenever I think about her. It makes me feel even dirtier and about a hundred times worse when I have to force myself to remember that he's married, along with everything else.

'My wife is not your concern,' he says.

'But she is, Lucius,' is hiss. 'You made her my concern, didn't you?'

His lips thin out, a muscle going in his cheek. I know I'm pushing this too far.

'Now you listen to me,' he says quietly, 'and you listen well. I will not discuss my wife with you. It is highly probable you will never meet her again, and so she need not concern you.'

I just stare at him, his words freezing me to the very bone.

'Don't you care?' I ask, my voice wavering. 'Don't you care that we're betraying her? Her husband's sleeping with a _Mudblood_, after all. Do you really think that she would find that palatable?'

He snaps then. He reaches up and grips me by the hair, wrenching my head back so that my neck is exposed and he's standing over me, whispering down into my face as I wince with the pain.

'No doubt she would find it most _un_palatable,' he whispers. 'That is why it is fortunate that she will never know the truth. Do you understand what I'm saying?'

And because I can't do anything else, I nod.

For a few seconds I can feel his breath fluttering on my neck as he holds me still, but then he releases me, stepping back from me once again.

I stare at him, rubbing my now sore and aching neck.

'Do you love her?' I ask quietly. 'Is that why you don't want her to find out?'

He rolls his eyes.

I swallow hard, feeling an unpleasant kick deep down in my stomach.

'If you don't love her, then why don't you want her to find out about us?'

He sneers at me. 'Sometimes I wonder just how simple you can be,' he says icily. 'Do you not realise that if anyone ever finds out about this, then the pair of us will be condemned in a heartbeat?'

I swallow. We are skating on the thinnest of ice, I know it. If Voldemort ever finds out what's going on…

'And what's more, I have a deep respect for Narcissa,' he says. He raises his eyebrows at my expression. 'What? You assume that because you don't love someone that you can't respect them? Narcissa is an intelligent, graceful and beautiful woman. She does not deserve to be disgraced with the knowledge that her husband…'

He trails off, unable to even say it, apparently, it's so abhorrent to him.

'When you were sleeping with Bellatrix, you didn't seem to care this much as to whether your wife knew about it or not,' I say quietly. 'Why is that, Lucius? Why would it bring more shame on her for her husband to be sleeping with a Mudblood than if he were sleeping with her sister?'

He looks at me for a long moment before he shakes his head, a bitter smirk twisting his mouth.

'You still don't understand, do you?' he asks. 'You still don't understand what an abomination you really are.'

I feel cold.

'It's you who comes to my bed every night,' I mutter. 'Or have you forgotten that fact? If I am disgusting to you, then you must be even more disgusted with yourself.'

A muscle goes in his cheek as his eyes narrow with rage.

But I can't stop myself.

'That's why you always come here in the dark, isn't it?' I whisper. 'Because you don't want to face up to what you're doing.'

The back of his hand whips across my face in a slap, and it hurts, it hurts so much, but as I fall to the ground I know that with that slap he confirmed what I just said.

I look up at him, clutching my cheek, and I see the usual rage and disgust there. And I know now that not all of that is just directed at me anymore. He must truly hate himself for what he's doing. After all, he probably feels that sleeping with a Mudblood is practically the same as being a Mudblood himself.

He tangles his hand in my hair and wrenches me to my feet, dragging me across the room and pinning me to the wall.

He looks at me for long moments, and I can see that familiar dark light in his eyes. His breathing has quickened slightly as he presses my body into the wall.

'I have never been afraid of anything,' he whispers. 'I am no coward.'

'But you are, Lucius,' I murmur, pressing my body up in to his, ever so slightly. 'You are afraid now. What's going on between us terrifies you. You need the darkness to hide away what you're doing.'

His lip curls up in rage.

'Is that so?'

And he crushes his lips onto mine, here, now, in full glare of the candles that line my walls. His hands slide quickly under my robes, and I kiss him back, wrapping my arms around his neck as he pulls my clothes off of my body, and I hate myself for it, and I know that he does too…

But if we can't have love, then hatred will have to do.


	31. Guilty as Sin

'_Because you were so good and pure  
He bound you with his ring:  
The neighbours call you good and pure,  
Call me an outcast thing.  
Even so I sit and howl in dust,  
You sit in gold and sing:  
Now which of us has tenderer heart?  
You had the stronger wing.'_ Christina Rosetti, _Cousin Kate_

_Will you love her, comfort her, honour and protect her, and, forsaking all others, be faithful to her as long as you both shall live?_

* * *

'Mudblood? I know you're in there. Get in here, now!'

I clutch hard at the cloth in my hand, my fingernails almost tearing into it, gritting my teeth against the flare of temper in my chest.

What the hell does _she_ want? I thought… I hoped that she didn't know I was here at all.

I don't want to go in there. Just facing Bellatrix on her own I bad enough, but I think she's got Draco with her. I thought I heard his voice when I came in.

And the last time I faced them on their own…

But no. It's alright. Bellatrix can't remember what happened that night. And Draco…

Oh god, Draco.

But I don't think they're on their own, anyway. There's somebody else with them too, I think, but I don't know who it is. They've been keeping their voice down, whoever they are.

I just hope to god it's not Avery.

I wish Lucius were here. I wish he had stayed with me, instead of leaving me here to do my chores alone.

But then… I suppose he must have things to do, and he can't put his whole life on hold just for me, can he?

_Can't he? You've done the same for him._

'_Mudblood!_'

I stagger to my feet, almost tripping over my robe as I stumble across the room. I'm not going to give her an excuse to punish me, I refuse.

_She won't punish you, not properly. Lucius won't let her._

But then, isn't that all part of the problem? Isn't that why she started hating me in the first place; when she realised that Lucius didn't like it when I was hurt by anyone but himself?

I pause when I reach the doorway, taking a deep breath before I fix my gaze on the floor and push the door open.

A crack of pain snaps down my spine as I enter the room. I gulp down my instinctive reaction, and keep on walking.

'Oh, so you're sure you're ready to join us, are you?' Bellatrix drawls. 'I _am_ sorry if we're intruding on your _busy_ schedule.'

I keep my eyes steadfastly on the floor, concentrating on the pattern of the paving stones. If I can just get through this, then perhaps I can go back to my room, and wait patiently for Lucius to come and give me a reason to carry on living this pitiful excuse for an existence.

'Don't you have anything to say, Mudblood?' she says, a hard, slightly hysterical edge to her voice.

_Oh, I will make you suffer, you bitch, you bitch, just you wait._

'I'm sorry,' I mumble, hating myself.

If I were feeling very stupid, I would tell her that she herself caused all of her suspicions about me and Lucius to come true. After all, if she hadn't slashed my wrists-

'I've knocked my wine glass over, Granger,' Draco says icily. 'Clean it up. Now.'

I clench my hands up tight, so tight my nails threaten to pop through the skin on my palms.

'The girl still remains here, then.'

Oh god. Oh _god,_ I recognise that voice now. I've only heard it a couple of times before, but how could I ever, ever forget it?

I look up, and I see her. Sitting there next to her sister, her complete opposite in looks and bearing. Her perfectly manicured fingernails rest idly on her crystal wine glass as she looks down her tiny, perfect nose at me, her beautifully shaped lips curled up in a sneer.

'Yes, unfortunately,' Bellatrix says. I chance a look at her, only to be rewarded with a hateful glare. 'It seems that mud is awfully difficult to shift.'

Draco snorts with laughter, but his mother just surveys me coolly.

'Indeed,' she says softly.

The smile fades from Draco's face as he looks at his mother, before he turns to me, giving one of the filthiest looks I've ever received.

I feel like absolute shit. Narcissa Malfoy might be a snobby, high-society pureblood supremist, but she's never done anything to me, not directly anyway.

But I'm sleeping with her husband.

Bellatrix is staring at me.

'Do as you're told, you lazy little maggot!' she hisses.

What? Oh yes, the wine.

I hastily walk over to the table. I'll have to use the cloth I was using for the floor, I suppose. What else do they expect me to use, the skirt of my robe?

Bellatrix turns to Narcissa as I wipe the table down, talking to her about someone called Ammelia Nott and just how much weight she's put on and how it's not surprising, really, after having four children, and you must have heard that her husband's sleeping with Lillian Parkinson, and oh, it's not right, because she's half his age, but then Ferrando Nott always was difficult to hold on, as Bellatrix remembers from the days before the first war, la la la…

I drown it all out, letting the gossip wash over me. It's not important, none of it is. I just need to get this done so that I can get the hell out of here, away from Lucius' perfect wife, and his bitter sister in law, and his angry son.

'Don't think I'm letting you off, Granger.'

My breath stops for a moment at that soft whisper, and I flick my eyes up to see Draco staring at me murderously.

I slide my eyes over to Bellatrix and Narcissa, but they aren't listening to him. They're far too engrossed in their own conversation, thank god.

I move my gaze back to the table, focusing on wiping the wine off of dark, polished wood. I mustn't listen to him. I just _won't_…

But like his father, he hates to be ignored.

'Did you hear me?' he whispers, his voice barely audible. 'Don't think I've forgotten about what I saw. I'm going to make sure that you suffer for what you're trying to do.'

Bellatrix laughs loudly at something Narcissa says, muffling the sound of Draco's voice.

'Please, Draco, just leave it,' I whisper desperately.

His hand down by the side of him, unseen by Bellatrix and Narcissa, raises his wand slightly.

'_Muffilato_!' he whispers.

And so now he can say what he wants, because neither Bellatrix nor Narcissa will be able to hear us. I'm trapped in a horribly safe bubble of silence.

'Carry on cleaning the table, and don't look up at me,' Draco drawls. 'I don't want either of them to know that I'm talking to you. My Aunt wouldn't approve, and I don't want to make my mother suspicious.'

I pause for a moment, before rubbing down the table again, keeping my eyes on the grain of the wood.

'I know what you're trying to do,' he murmurs.

_Keep your eyes on the table, don't look at him, and don't listen._

'Did you hear me?' he hisses under his breath. 'I know your little game, Granger. And I'm telling you to back off.'

I want to scream. I want to rail at the little bastard and tell him _exactly_ what's going on, but I don't. I need to keep a hold of myself.

'My father already cares about you, for some god-known reason, I can see that,' he mutters venomously. 'I'm warning you - back off now, before things go any further. I swear, Mudblood, if you try to steal my father away from my mother, then I will make you regret it.'

I roll my gaze up to look at him, just for a second. He's staring at me with hard eyes, every inch of his face etched over with disgust.

'My father's not weak,' he whispers. 'He's the greatest man I know. He won't be swayed into letting you go if you bat your eyelashes at him. You're a Mudblood, in case you'd forgotten, which means that he'd never, _ever_ touch you.'

I glare at him, taking deep breaths to calm the explosion of temper that bubbles in my chest.

'There's nothing going on Draco,' I say, the lie almost sticking in my throat.

He narrows his eyes, his young face containing hundreds of years worth of hate.

'Keep it that way,' he says threateningly. '_Finite incantatem_!'

And with that I know that the conversation is over.

I stand up straight, putting the damp cloth in the pocket of my robes. It immediately starts to soak through my skirts, coming into cold contact with the bare skin that lies beneath.

I look down at my feet.

'Will that be everything… Miss?' I say, almost choking on that last word.

I won't look up from the floor. I won't look at… _her_. I might be able to push myself to look at Bellatrix, but not _her_.

How can I?

Bellatrix gives a delighted little giggle.

'_Miss_, now, is it?' she exclaims. 'Well, that at least makes a change from the usual titles you reserve for me.'

I feel my face boil up with anger. I just want to leave, why can't they let me go?

'Oh dear,' I hear Narcissa drawl softly. 'How… unrefined muggles can be.'

I cringe inwardly. I feel so bloody uncouth and crude and lumpish next to her, and for god's sake, just let me _go_, I can't deal with this!

Bellatrix snorts with laughter. 'Well what else would you expect? What muggles did you ever hear of that possessed any kind of good manners or good taste?'

That's rich, coming from her.

'I am pleased to see,' she drawls pitilessly, 'that after _all _the time Lucius has spent with her, he might _finally_ have succeeded in teaching her some manners.'

I snap my head up to look at Bellatrix. She's just smiling at me. Smiling at me with mirthless, gloating triumph, because she might have forgotten what she saw the night she slashed my wrists, and the night she saw me outside Lucius' room, but she hasn't forgotten everything she suspected before that, of course she hasn't.

_Shut up, shut up, you bitch, just SHUT UP!_

I don't chance a look at Narcissa. I just look at the floor again.

But nothing will shut Bellatrix up, nothing.

'But then, it certainly took him long enough,' she goes on. 'God only knows how long he spent trying to teach you your place. Hours and hours he would spend, yet it never seemed to be enough-'

She stops, her words trailing off into a tiny gasp.

I look up for a second. She's gripping her wrist, wincing in pain.

Thank god _something _might have finally succeeded in shutting her up. Even if I know what horrible _something_ it is.

I dart my eyes across the table. Sure enough, Draco is doing the same thing as his aunt – he's clutching at his arm, his face scrunched up in pain.

'The Dark Lord?' Narcissa asks quietly.

Bellatrix says nothing, but her eyes are lit up with a slightly feverish glow as she rolls up her sleeve, staring at the mark that burns black on the smooth white of her forearm, running her thumb over it almost lovingly.

Draco, however, merely looks a little green as he clutches at his wrist, unable even to _look_ at his mark, apparently.

Could I ever feel sorry for Draco? I mean, properly _sorry_ for him? After all, how could he fight against all he's ever known?

Narcissa looks at her son, her sharp features softening for a moment, before she nods her head.

'Then you must go immediately, both of you.'

They don't need to be told twice.

My breath comes in short, terrified gasps as they both rise from their chairs, almost scrambling their way out of the room in their haste. They shut the door behind them when they leave, sealing me in with _his_ wife, his _perfect_ wife…

I stand still for a long, painful moment, just looking at the floor, burning with agony.

I've got to get out of here. I can't face her, especially not on my own…

But would things really be any better if Lucius were here, this time?

I hover for a moment, not really knowing what to do. Eventually, I bob down for a second in a pathetic excuse for some kind of curtsey, before I turn to make my way towards the door.

'I believe you need my permission to leave,' she says coldly.

I freeze where I am.

_Shit, shit, please, help me, for god's sake!_

Biting down hard on my lip, I turn around, my feet like lead.

But I still don't look up from the floor. I can't force myself to go that far.

'Yes, miss,' I say quietly.

Her chair scrapes along the floor as she stands up, then her heels click sharply as she walks around the table, coming to stand in front of me. The pointed toes of her no doubt priceless shoes peep out from under the hem of her silky, silver robe.

I shift my own bare feet under the hem of my own robe, making sure that they're completely covered up. I don't want her to see that I don't even own a pair of _shoes_ anymore.

'Let me see your face,' she says quietly.

I close my eyes for a second, taking a deep breath. I need to be calm.

But I can't let her think I've got something to hide by keeping my face hidden from her, can I?

I open my eyes and I lift my head, staring at the older, far more beautiful woman that stands opposite me.

She just… oozes class, though the word '_ooze_' could never be used for a woman like Narcissa Malfoy. _Radiates _might be a better word. Her clothes, her hair, her skin… they all seem to have this _sheen_ to them. A sheen of utter perfection. Dirt is unknown to her, filth is unknown to her…

Mud is unknown to her.

Her expression is guarded. Apart from that, I can't make much of how she's looking at me now.

'This is the fifth time we have met,' she says coolly, 'and yet the pair of us have never been formally introduced.'

I open my mouth, and close it again. I don't really know what to say.

She curls up her lip in what looks like distain. Or exasperation.

'You need not be afraid of me,' she says softly. 'I might dislike your kind, but I am no Death-Eater.'

But how can she know that every word she says, no matter how harmless, drips over me like contaminated slime? After everything I've done, how can I face this woman?

'I'm… I…'

I stutter and spit as she remains calm, cool, collected, raising a perfectly plucked eyebrow at me.

'An introduction usually begins with a name, I believe.'

I swallow, and I nod. I've got to keep it together, I've got to. My life depends on it. Lucius' life depends on it.

'My name is Hermione Granger,' I say, as levelly as I can under the circumstances.

Her expression doesn't change.

'And I am Narcissa Malfoy.' She pauses. Her voice is soft, very soft. 'I am the wife of your captor.'

My heart is beating so hard that my ribs are cracking, I know it. The wife, the wife of your captor… Christ almighty, does she _know_?

'You will forgive me if I do not shake your hand, I presume?' she says, without any real question in her voice. 'It wouldn't be proper, after all.'

A prickle of resentment runs down my spine. Or perhaps it could be fear. Is she just saying that because I'm a Mudblood, or is she saying that because… because…

To be safe, I nod my head.

She looks at me for a long while in silence, her head tilted to the side slightly.

'You haven't been having the best of times recently, I hear?' she says quietly.

I almost start out of sheer surprise. Is she… is she offering me _sympathy_, of all things? Why?

'You could say that,' I reply, almost biting my own tongue a second later. Why is it that I can never learn to just shut up? She's bound to punish me for being impolite.

But instead she nods, her icy features softening, just for a moment.

'I heard about the death of your parents.' Her voice seems to thaw, just for a second. 'You have my sincere sympathies.'

She pauses, brushing down the front of her robes somewhat self-consciously, her perfectly manicured hands gliding over the silver satin of her robes.

'It is hard to lose one's parents,' she murmurs without looking at me, concentrating very hard on her robe. 'Especially at such a young age.'

I gulp, reeling from this show of almost _kindness_, coming from her, _her_, of all people. The woman who should hate me more than anything in the world, and this time not for everything I am, but also for everything I've _done._

Not just kindness, but sympathy, too. She said those words as if she knew their meaning all too well. As if she knows exactly how I'm feeling.

'I…' I struggle for words for a moment, really not knowing what to say. 'I heard your parents died, too. I'm sorry.'

She raises an eyebrow at me, but she nods.

'It wasn't easy, being the only one to miss them,' she says softly. 'Andromeda hadn't seen them for almost ten years, and she had little affection for them. And as for Bella…'

She trails off, but her cold eyes are focusing on me.

'As fondly as I regard Bella, she is not often the most sympathetic of women, as I'm sure you know.'

I don't know whether to smile at her comment or not. I have no idea what she expects of me. Is she welcoming me into her confidence, or is she trying to lead me into a trap?

Just how similar is she to her husband and her sister?

I decide it's safest to keep quiet, biting at the inside of my cheek to stop the confession that burns the tip of my tongue.

'Bella hates you, you know,' she says.

It's such an obvious statement that I would laugh if the situation wasn't so desperate. But it's obvious in ways I can never, ever disclose, ever.

'Yes, I'd guessed,' I say, a touch of sarcasm creeping into my voice. I can't help it, and I know I should just shut up and keep it quiet…

But keeping quiet has never been a strong point of mine. It's the reason why I was always a little unpopular in my classes at school.

Her expression hasn't changed.

What can I do to make this better?

In the end I just smile apologetically, pulling back my lips slightly with real difficulty.

But she doesn't return the gesture.

'Do you know why she hates you?' she asks, her voice clipped.

My heart stops beating, I swear to god, as I try to think of what to say. Oh god, oh my _god, _what can I say without lying to this woman in some way or other?

I can give the answer that would have been true when I was first captured, surely? Would that technically be a lie?

'It's because I'm a M-Mud-'

'That's not the only reason, now, is it?' she interrupts me coldly, and oh god, please, kill me now.

I just gape at her, my mouth opening and closing stupidly, like a fish trying to catch flies as a beautiful gazelle looks on impassively.

She knows, she must know, otherwise why… why would she be asking me this?

She runs her eyes over me, just once.

'How old are you, Mudblood?'

I swallow down my guilt and my humiliation before I answer.

'Eighteen.'

_Yes, I'm a stupid little girl, a stupid little girl who has got in way over her head, mixing with things far too grown up and terrifying for her, and sleeping with your husband, obsessed with your husband, perhaps even-_

Her lips thin out slightly, and for a moment I wonder whether I can see those eyes soften.

'When I was eighteen I was studying for my N. E. W. T. s,' she says quietly.

She pauses.

My breathing is shallow.

She can't feel sorry for me. I won't believe it. I learned to trust nobody, except perhaps Ron, a long time ago, when Harry failed to save my parents.

'This is no place for a young girl. I have told Lucius again and again that this is a poor practice. A Mudblood you may be, but I do not see how keeping you in this manner achieves anything.'

I don't say anything, because I can't. What could I say?

'He cannot risk letting you go, I know this.' She locks her gaze onto mine. 'You must know what will happen to him if he does.'

_Oh God, please, if You are merciful, You will strike me dead now._

Once I told Lucius that if he really cared for me he'd let me go, and he swore that he'd die first.

Somehow, I don't think that's what she's talking about.

'But I assume that he is keeping you as well as he can,' she adds, her voice barely audible. 'Bella continuously mentions to me just how he will not allow you to be harmed, not by anything or anyone.'

She pauses again while ice clogs up my veins. Breathe, breathe. The in, the out.

_She knows she knows she KNOWS!_

Her beautiful ice-blue eyes meet my dull, boring brown ones.

'Cherish the protection he can give you, Mudblood,' she says so very, very quietly. 'It may be the one thing that can save you-'

The door swings open, and just to make everything so much worse, thank you God, Lucius steps into the room, still in elegant travelling robes of black.

But for a moment, the briefest of moments, his composure falls. He freezes, his eyes wide as he takes in the sight of his wife talking to his… to his…

What is it that I am to him?

'Good evening, Lucius,' Narcissa says, her tone polite although not exactly warm. 'Your duties were short-lived this evening, I presume?'

He recovers very quickly, I have to hand it to him. The immediate shock on his face slides away to be replaced by cool, polite welcome.

He must have grown accustomed to hiding his emotions over the years. Who knows that better than I do?

'Narcissa,' he says curtly, striding over to her and kissing her coolly on the cheek.

My insides are kicking each other to death, but I try not to let that show. I'm going to take a leave out of Lucius' book. Show no emotion. Emotion leads only to pain.

He turns to look at me for a second, his eyes narrowed, accusing.

_I didn't say anything, I didn't, please don't look at me like that…_

Barely a second passes before he turns back to his wife. 'This is a most unexpected pleasure,' he says with a smooth smile. 'To what do we owe the honour of your presence?'

'My sister invited me round for dinner,' she replies.

Lucius nods, his face giving nothing away. 'Where is she now?'

There's a short pause before she answers him.

'The Dark Lord called her to him, about five minutes ago,' she says quietly. 'And Draco too, he had to go with her.'

She trails off, turning away from him slightly so I can't see her face.

Without hesitation, Lucius reaches out and coolly pats her on the shoulder.

'He's seventeen now, Narcissa,' he says quietly. 'He's old enough to make his own decisions, and more than capable of defending himself should the occasion call for it. You need to stop worrying about him unnecessarily.'

Narcissa turns to face him again, her expression a little hard.

'Of course,' she says, her voice firm. 'I grew accustomed to the idea of him following in your footsteps long ago. I am just grateful that he has his aunt and his father to look after him.'

Lucius doesn't encourage the intimate note. He just nods, removing his hand from her shoulder, which I find myself more grateful for than I'd ever thought possible.

But then he turns to face me, his eyes hard with quiet rage. You wouldn't be able to see it, if you didn't know what to look for.

'What is the Mudblood doing here?' he asks quietly.

Narcissa frowns slightly, although he cannot see her.

'She was just finishing her cleaning work when you came in.' She fixes her stare on me from behind her husband's back. 'But I believe she's finished now.'

Lucius doesn't turn to face her. He just looks at me, his face very hard.

'Well then, I shall return her to her room.' His lips barely move as he speaks. 'I have no wish to be burdened with her presence down here any longer than I have to be.'

I feel cold. I know that he has to say it, to keep up the pretence, but…

Narcissa continues to frown at her husband as he clicks his fingers at me.

'Come along, Mudblood.'

Hating myself, I do as I'm told, following him as he walks towards the door, out of the room. When we reach the doorway, he turns to his wife once more. Her frown has been smoothed away to be replaced by a small, chilly smile.

'You will return to the manor, I presume?' Lucius drawls.

She gives a tiny nod. 'Just as soon as I finish my wine.'

His lips form a tiny smile before he turns and strides out of the room.

I look at Narcissa, who keeps her cold eyes on mine, granting me the tiniest of nods.

I feel like I should say something. But what could I say? _Thank you for being the one Malfoy who's ever had anything half-decent to say to me even though I'm sleeping with your husband?_

I don't think so.

And so I turn, away from Lucius' perfect trophy wife, and I follow Lucius out of the room.

As soon as the door closes behind me he grips at my arm, almost pulling it from the socket as he drags me down the corridor. I almost whimper in pain, but I force myself to keep quiet.

He's angry. No, he's beyond angry. He's furious. He doesn't need to say anything for me to know that.

We arrive at my bedroom in what feels like no time at all. Banging the door open, he throws me in the room, coming in after me and slamming the door behind him. His lips are a thin line in a rock hard face.

'Did you speak to her?' he asks, his voice shaking with fury.

I shiver where I'm standing, trembling with fear. Everything's crashing around me – the knowledge and the terror of what we're doing…

'I…' I stumble over the word, hardly able to breathe.

In two steps he's right in front of me, his hand drawn back in a threat to slap me as his eyes blaze in temper.

'Just answer the damn question!' he hisses.

I stumble back from him, falling into the wall, clinging onto the stones to hold myself up.

'Lucius, I… I think she _knows_!' I say, my voice shaking so much with repressed sobs of terror I'm surprised I can get the words out.

His face goes so pale that it's whiter than white. He looks like he's seen a ghost.

He lowers his hand, slowly. His eyes are so wide they look like they belong to a different person altogether.

'What?' he whispers.

I cling harder onto the stones behind me, taking huge, gulping breaths.

'Your… your wife, I think she knows about… about _us._'

He pauses for a moment, his face completely drained of colour, before he grips hard at my shoulders, pulling me away from the wall and shaking me.

'What did she say to you?' he hisses, shaking me so hard it hurts. 'Just what, _exactly, _did she say to you?'

I gulp, trying hard to remember every last word she said to me.

'She said… she said that she is your wife,' I whisper.

He stops, looking at me incredulously as his fingers bite into my shoulders.

'And if she did?' He lets go of my shoulders, staring at me disbelievingly. 'She _is_ my wife, in case you'd forgotten. She has been for years.'

'But that's not all!' I say desperately. 'She said… she said that Bellatrix hates me, and not just because I'm a Mudblood.'

His eyes narrow, going out of focus for a second as he considers that one, but before long he shakes his head, looking at me again.

'I highly doubt that she meant what you think she did,' he says firmly. 'If she meant that Bellatrix was jealous of you, then that would mean she knows that Bellatrix has _reason_ to be jealous.'

I stare at him, my mind going into overdrive.

'But… but didn't you say once that Narcissa probably knew what was going on between you and her sister?'

He rolls his eyes, shaking his head. 'Perhaps I did, but I have always been certain that she never really knew what was going on,' he says with cold, calm confidence. 'I told you that she probably already knew because I wanted to dissuade you from getting any ideas about telling her about it after Bellatrix's… indiscretion.'

I feel my lips thin out. 'And what makes you think that I won't tell her about it now?' I ask furiously. 'What makes you so certain that I didn't just tell her about it?'

He raises an eyebrow at me. 'Did you?'

I close my mouth like a trap, and he smirks at me triumphantly. 'No, I thought you didn't,' he says quietly. 'And somehow I doubt very much that you ever will, either.'

No, of course I won't. I keep every secret in the world for him. Everything he never wants anybody to know, including the biggest secret of all – how he feels about a Mudblood.

'But…' I add desperately. 'But she might have just… she might have thought that Bellatrix was just angry on her behalf, or something, and that's why she hates me.'

He curls up a smile. 'Bellatrix Lestrange, showing concern for anyone except herself?' His smile grows wider. 'Are we really thinking of the same woman?'

The tiniest of smiles curves my lips involuntarily, and for one magical moment the pair of us share a smile.

And it's beautiful and it's perfect because it's the one moment both of us have smiled together when it's not part of a game or a battle of wills…

But his smile disappears almost immediately as he realises, a little too late, that it's a Mudblood he's sharing a joke with. He frowns, and so to be safe I wipe the smile off my own face.

A long silence rolls out between us before he eventually speaks again.

'Narcissa knows Bellatrix better than anyone else in the world,' he says quietly. 'And she believes that if Bellatrix knew that I was having an affair, she would tell her about it immediately.'

'Then why hasn't she already?' I whisper. 'Why hasn't she told her that you and I…'

His eyes narrow. I'm treading on dangerous ground here. I'm not allowed to apply any kind of name to what's going on between us…

Besides, I don't want to use the word _affair. _Somehow, that word doesn't seem to apply to what's going on between us.

'Why hasn't Bellatrix already told her sister about you and me?' I say eventually.

'Because she doesn't _know_,' he says exasperatedly. 'She has her suspicions, but she has no evidence to back those up. The strongest evidence she had was what she saw the night she slashed your wrists, and I wiped that from her memory. Besides, Bellatrix might be half-crazed, but she's not stupid. She knows that if she takes me down, I'll drag her down with me. I would tell my wife all about her sister's behaviour, and how she slept with her own brother-in-law.' He pauses, raising his head slightly. 'Bellatrix knows this. She loves her sister, and she would do anything to keep that knowledge from her.'

I pause, my brain processing the information. What he's saying makes sense, I suppose, but… but…

'Your wife said that Bellatrix had told her that you won't allow any harm to come to me,' I say hurriedly, while I've still got the guts to say it. 'And that I should… that I should cherish the protection you provide for me, as it may well be the one thing that can save me.'

That gives him pause. He looks at me for a few moments.

'What did she mean – the one thing that can save me?' I ask quietly.

He frowns. 'I don't know what she meant by that.'

He seems to give it some thought for a minute or two, before he shakes his head again.

'She feels sorry for you, nothing more,' he says quietly. 'I know her. Despite her beliefs, what has happened to you does not sit too well with her. She has told me time and time again to try and show mercy on you whenever possible.'

I stand stock still, the guilt gnawing at me like a tick. She feels sorry for me, she _pities_ me, and how have I repaid her?

'You claim to respect her, yet you seem very reluctant to do as she asks,' I mutter. 'When have you ever shown any mercy towards me?'

He takes a sharp breath through his nose. He looks as if he almost wants to reply to me, but he can't bring himself to, somehow.

'Was there anything else?' he asks quietly.

I gulp, thinking hard. 'No,' I say eventually. 'No, that was about it.'

He nods. 'Then I do not believe we have any reason to worry,' he says, his voice clipped. 'Narcissa has always refused to become a Death-Eater because the lengths we are prepared to go to for our cause do not sit well with her. That is why, I do not doubt, she chose to speak to you today. She pities you. Believe me, if she suspected what was going on, she would have spoken to me about it. I know her. She has too much self-respect to do otherwise.'

I don't know whether I really believe him, but I suppose I have no choice. He knows her better than I do.

But… the way she was talking, and the hints Bellatrix was dropping…

'What are we doing?' I whisper. 'How long can we keep this going before we're found out?'

Quiet anger creeps into his eyes at my words.

'We will not be found out, Mudblood,' he says quietly. 'I will make sure of it.'

'But we're not _safe_, Lucius,' I whisper, trying to ignore the fact that my heart is threatening to beat my ribs to death.

He shakes his head resentfully. 'Since when has anything about the entire situation been '_safe_'?' he mutters bitterly.

He's right. He's completely right. Our whole relationship has been toxic, and sick, and twisted and corrupt, ever since he broke into my bedroom at home and pinned me against the wall, not allowing me to see his face but only feel him crushing into me, letting me wonder for ages who it was and what they wanted, and whether I was going to die in that moment.

'This is sick,' I say quietly. 'This whole… thing, it's just… it's just so _wrong_.'

His face sets itself hard as rock as he just looks at me.

'Who knows that better than I do?' he murmurs.

His hate radiates off of him in waves. Hate for me, and hate for himself.

'Yes, but you think it's sick because I'm a Mudblood,' I whisper. 'Whereas I… I think it's sick because of just how many people we are hurting here. Ron, your wife… and ourselves.'

His lips thin out as he stares at me, looking as if he wants to understand me, but he just can't, because for him considering someone else's feelings is just beyond comprehension.

'No-one else is getting hurt, Mudblood,' he mutters. 'No-one else but us knows what is going on.'

I shake my head sadly. No one else, no one else is getting hurt…

'But what about us?' My voice cracks slightly. 'What about how much the pair of us are hurting? Today, when I was talking to your wife, when she was being almost kind to me when you and I…'

I trail off as his fist clenches by his side, his knuckles almost bursting from the skin. I'm not allowed to put words to it, I know. He might now light a candle whenever he comes here for me, to prove to himself that he has nothing to fear, but he still can't really face up to what's happening.

'Do you have any idea just how much of a whore I felt like?' I whisper, tears of humiliation stinging my eyes.

Something unspoken passes between us then. It's something I think I felt when I told him, so long ago, that I was afraid to go back to my room in case Dolohov came back for me.

'It's not my fault you feel that way,' he says, his lips barely moving.

Tears start to creep down my cheeks. 'Of course it's your fault!' My voice wavers over the words. I can't help it. It's like I'm swimming in a sea of anger and humiliation.

He takes a sharp breath through his nose, the dark beginnings of temper flaring in his eyes. 'How?' he whispers dangerously. 'How is it my fault?'

'You come here every night, and you just take what you want from me.' My breathing comes in short, ragged bursts. 'You only care about getting what you want. And you always get what you want – you never give me any kind of choice. You've _never_ given me any kind of choice. You just don't care how _I_ feel.'

'And why should I?' he asks harshly, malicious rage curling a joyless smile onto his face. 'What do I care how you feel? You're just a Mudblood. Why should you be anything but an object to me?'

'So that's it, is it?' I say shakily. 'I'm just a sick, twisted weakness of yours, and you're just waiting for the novelty of _fucking a Mudblood_ to be over, is that it?'

He remains silent, looking as if I'm saying things that he doesn't want to hear.

But he can't take his eyes off my face.

'Is that the reason why you wanted me in the first place?' I whisper. 'Is it just because I'm a Mudblood?'

He narrows his eyes at me. 'What?'

I take the deepest of breaths.

'Dolohov said, just before we killed him, that the reason you wanted me was because I was a Mudblood, and so the one thing you were forbidden to have.' My eyes swim with tears. 'Is the rule of scarcity the whole reason for… for what's going on between us?'

'Of course it isn't!' he hisses, his temper conquering him. 'Do you really think I have so little self control?'

I feel that sink in. He said… his own mouth said that's not the only reason he wants me.

So what _is_ the reason, then?

'What's so special about me, then?' I ask, my voice little more than a whisper. 'When you've got someone like Narcissa for your wife, and you had a woman like Bellatrix before… why do you want me, a _Mudblood_, of all things?'

He looks at me for long moments, as if he's considering me. His gaze is so dark, so penetrating, that I'm almost shivering under the intensity of his stare. It's as if he's looking into my soul, searching desperately for what it is about me that he wants so badly that he'll go against everything he believes in for it.

He sighs, and drops his gaze, running his eyes over me and bringing them back up to my face. He takes a step closer to me, and another, before he reaches out and pushes a stray stand of frizzy hair behind my ear, looking deeply into my eyes.

'I've never known,' he whispers. 'Haven't I told you as much before?'

But then, didn't Dolohov say, before we murdered him, that it must be so… so tantalising for Lucius to know that someone so… so innocent and _pure_ was sleeping, quite defenceless, in the room next to him…

It makes my skin crawl to remember it, but it makes me think, all the same. Would it be so unreasonable to think that to someone who has known nothing but darkness their whole life, a little light would perhaps be appealing? Could someone with such a pitch-black and mutilated soul just once, just _once_, want to lay claim to something a little better?

He can't, or won't, take his eyes away from my face. He just stays where he is, his fingers entangled in my hair just next to my ear.

'You are no whore, Mudblood,' he whispers, so low I can barely hear his voice. 'I will not put you in the same class as my _dear_ sister-in-law.'

My heart lifts at his words, only to sink down to my toes again when I remember that's all they are - words. I need more than that.

'Then why can't you treat me like a human being?' I whisper. 'I'll bet you treated Bellatrix better than you treat me, just because she's a pureblood.'

He steps even closer to me, if that's possible.

'You've heaped so much on me, Lucius,' I say quietly, sobs lacing through my words. 'And after all you've done to me, you finally land me with the final indignity of treating me like a whore.'

His face twitches slightly at that, as if what I've said has wounded him deeply, lashed his soul like he's lashed mine, over and over again.

He takes a deep breath. 'I don't like it any more than you do,' he murmurs. 'I never thought that things would come to this.'

I suck in my breath as somehow, god knows how, he moves his body closer to mine, pressing me into the hard wall behind me. I can't breathe, and my stomach is back-flipping over and over, but somehow I push the words out of my mouth.

'We need to end this,' I say desperately. 'Right now, before it goes too far.'

He moves his face yet closer, so close that I can see every little detail of his face, just like how I can see every little detail of his soul, though he might try with all his might to hide it from me.

'Too far, Mudblood?' he whispers, before floating his tongue over his lips. 'We passed that point long ago.'

And with that his lips crush down onto mine.


	32. Scars

_'I am inhabited by a cry.  
Nightly it flaps out  
looking, with its hooks, for something to love._

_I am terrified by this dark thing  
that sleeps in me;  
all day I feel its soft, feathery turnings, its malignity.'_ - Sylvia Plath_, Elm_

* * *

I climb out of the bath, the warm water dragging itself up with me and slapping onto the cold tiles of the floor.

He'll be here soon. I've got to hurry.

I didn't mean to leave everything so late. I'm just so _tired_ this evening. I've been working all day long – I only finished my chores about half an hour ago.

I walk through to my room and open the doors of my wardrobe, rifling through the robes that hang there. Plain, ordinary robes. Servant's robes. _Clothes befitting one of your station, _he told me once.

Bastard.

Black, black, brown, blue, black, green, blue, brown-

Hold on a second.

There's… there's one I haven't seen before. Just at the end here, hiding behind this grey one.

It's pink. A very pale, dusty pink.

I don't know why I've never seen it before.

Or maybe it _wasn't _here before.

I pull the robe out of the wardrobe. Despite its colour, it's still quite plain, really.

But… but it's so nice to have something to wear that holds some vague sort of life about it in some way.

I'd give it up for a pair of shoes and some underwear, though. Of all the items of clothing I miss, those certainly top the list.

I pull the robe onto my damp body. It sticks to my skin a little, but hopefully that will stop when I've dried off a bit.

I walk over to my bedside table and I pick up my comb, running it through my hair, which drips around my shoulders. Then I put the comb down and look in the mirror, turning my face this way and that.

I didn't realize that I'd lost so much weight. There are deep hollows under my cheekbones.

It's not surprising, I suppose. I only get about one meal a day, perhaps two if I'm lucky.

The door swings open and Lucius strides in the room, closing the door behind him.

His eyes flicker down for a moment, and when they return to my face they're slightly darker than they were before.

'You will come to my room tonight,' he says quietly.

I frown. 'Why?'

He looks around. 'I don't like this room. It was originally built for servants to sleep in. I don't see why I should spend any more time in here than I have to.'

Oh, yes. Because this poky, run-down little room reminds him of my station in life; reminds him that it's someone so low, so beneath him in every way that he… that he's… can I still use the word _fucking_ for this?

'Come on.' He holds out a large, silvery, shimmery cloth that I recognize as an invisibility cloak. 'Put this on. If anyone comes down the corridor, we cannot afford for them to see you.'

'Isn't this pretty risky, anyway?' I ask. 'Couldn't someone come into your room?'

'That's a risk we take every night when I come here. We will be in no more danger in my own bedroom.'

He holds out the cloak for me, and reluctantly I take it from him, draping it over my head, making sure that every inch of me is covered.

He runs his eyes over me, and then he nods.

'Good,' he murmurs. 'Now follow me closely. And don't think about trying to escape when we get out of here. The corridor is locked.'

As if I needed to be told that.

He turns, and presses his ear to the door for a moment, listening hard, before he opens the door and steps out of the room. I follow him, brushing against his leg to let him know that I'm out of the room.

Without looking at me he closes my bedroom door, locking it, before turning to walk the few short paces to his own bedroom.

Another door clicks behind us.

'Lucius?'

Both of us turn around, me unseen.

Bellatrix walks slowly towards us from the other end of the corridor.

'What do _you_ want?' Lucius asks.

Her lips spread into a languid smile, and she sways as she walks.

'You know what I want,' she slurs as she reaches him. 'You've always known what I want. Once upon a time, you knew all too well.'

I feel a horrible, queasy kick deep down in my stomach.

'You're drunk,' Lucius says coldly. 'And it's late. Go to bed.'

She reaches out to run a finger down the lapel of his jacket. 'Don't you want to come with me?'

He brushes her hand away. 'Bella, you're embarrassing yourself.'

Her face falls and she takes a step back from him.

'Why did you end it, Lucius?' she asks softly. 'We used to be so good together. I remember when you couldn't get enough of me-'

'It's amazing, isn't it?' Lucius interrupts her. 'Truly amazing, how you can twist the true events into something they never were.'

Her face pales.

'You were a distraction, Bella,' he says coldly. 'An enjoyable distraction, but a distraction, nonetheless. And now it is over.' He turns towards his bedroom door. 'Goodnight.'

She furiously reaches out and grabs him by the shoulder, turning him round to face her again.

'You're despicable!' she hisses at him. 'How could you leave me for nothing more than a filthy little-'

'I have had this argument with you too many times to count. There is nothing between me and the Mudblood. I ended things with you because, quite frankly, you irritate me.'

'And you don't find _her_ irritating?' she hisses. 'All she ever does is snivel and cry!'

She pauses, before she smirks at him.

'How could she ever compare to me?' she whispers breathily. 'I can do things for you that she could only _dream_ of-'

'My part in this conversation is over,' he says. 'Gather up whatever dignity you might have left and go to bed. Perhaps you could go and visit your husband tomorrow. I'm sure Rudolphus misses his _dear _little wife.'

'Don't mention that ingrate to me! He is beneath me. I married him for the same reasons you married my sister – for political and social standing, nothing more!'

She grabs hold of him by the lapels of his robes. 'Don't you understand, Lucius? We're the same, you and I. Both ruled by our pride, and our conviction.'

He wrenches her hands away from him. 'Please do not compare me to yourself. There is the world of difference between us.'

He once said that to _me_, so long ago now – _There is the world of difference between us, Mudblood…_

'Do you know what the Mudblood calls me?' he asks. 'She calls me 'evil'. And who knows, she might be right. I have wondered if she is, often enough.'

Bellatrix thrusts her chin out. 'We aren't _evil_, Lucius-'

'Perhaps we are, Bella,' he interrupts her. 'Perhaps we are. But at least _I _am of sound mind, which is more than I could say for you. I made the decision to follow this path in life while in control of my wits. You – you could never lay that claim.'

She blanches at his words. 'You're a heartless bastard,' she whispers.

He smirks. 'Has it ever occurred to you, Bellatrix, that we served each other right, you and I? Perhaps we were suitable punishment for each other.'

She sneers at him. 'And now you want a _reward, _is that it?'

He takes a deep breath. 'I will not tell you again – I am the girl's guard, nothing more.'

She suddenly bursts into hysterical laughter. 'Keep telling yourself that, if it makes you feel better,' she crows. 'Well, I can wait. I've been waiting for months, so a little longer won't hurt me.'

'What in god's name are you talking about?' Lucius asks, his voice hard with irritation.

'She's got to _die_, Lucius,' she says gleefully. 'She's seen too much to leave this place alive. You've always known that when Potter dies, she will die too. It will be you yourself that will have to do it. And so I can wait. And as she dies at your hands I will know that it will only be a matter of time before you come back to me-'

He slaps her hard across the face, so hard she fall to the ground, crying out in pain.

'Even if I _were_ sleeping with the Mudblood,' he says quietly, furiously, 'nothing, not even her death, would make me go back to a wicked old harpy like you.'

Before she can say anything he drags her up by the hair and pushes her away from him.

'Get out,' he says venomously.

She looks at him murderously for a few moments, but she doesn't decide to fight him. She just straightens herself up and looks him straight in the eye, her face alive with hatred.

'Blood traitor.'

She spits the words at him before turning and storming down the corridor, banging out of the door at the end of it.

A few moments pass as he just looks at the ground.

He's told me so many times that being a Blood Traitor is just as bad as being a Mudblood, if not worse. At least Mudbloods are not given the luxury of choice concerning their blood status.

Blood traitors, on the other hand...

He turns, and I tense, terrified of what he might do, but he just opens the door to his room.

'You'd better come in,' he mutters, so quietly I can barely hear him.

I follow him into the room quickly, brushing the cloak against his hand to let him know when I'm through the door.

He closes the door behind us, locking it.

He looks at the closed door for a few moments, a frown on his face.

'Let me see you,' he murmurs, without turning to face me.

I shrug the invisibility cloak off my shoulders.

He turns to look at me. He reaches out, brushing a stray strand of damp hair behind my ear.

'Are you really worth all of this trouble?' he asks quietly.

I don't answer him. I don't know how to.

He sighs, and drops his hand from my hair and his gaze from my face.

'_Blood traitor_, she called me,' he murmurs. 'To think I would live to see the day when a Malfoy would be branded as such… _any_ Malfoy, let alone myself.'

'Does it matter what she called you?' I whisper.

He frowns at me. 'You can't possibly understand what an insult the term _Blood Traitor_ is.'

'Is it as big an insult as the word _Mudblood_?' I ask, my voice hard.

He rolls his eyes. 'I'm not going to waste time explaining it to you anymore. You'll never be able to understand.'

I sigh in exasperation, but he's turned from me again, not paying me any attention.

'Do you still care about her?' I ask quietly. 'Does her opinion matter to you so much?'

His mouth twists into a bitter smirk. 'I never have, and I never will, _care _about Bellatrix Lestrange,' he says bluntly. 'What's more, I truly doubt that there's a person in the world who cares for her.'

'No, it's what she _said_ that bothers me,' he murmurs. 'And she spoke the truth, didn't she?'

He pauses, taking in a deep breath.

'I _am _a blood traitor.'

I shake my head incredulously. 'No. No, you're not. It's all _lies_, Lucius! Your twisted, pure blood logic - none of it was ever true.'

'It's no lie!' he mutters furiously. 'You _are _a Mudblood. _That_ is no lie. You cannot deny it. And by giving in to you, an insignificant little mudblood, I have made myself a blood traitor.'

'If you've given up everything for me,' I say shakily, 'then I can't be that _insignificant,_ can I?'

He slaps me across the face, so quickly I didn't even see it coming. I clutch at my cheek, tears coming to my eyes. I can't help it. He hasn't hit me for a while now.

He takes a few sharp breaths, trying to calm himself down.

'You little bitch,' he says, with feeling. 'You have no idea just how much you make me suffer, do you?'

'You've hurt me too!' I say, my voice cracking. 'You've hurt me much more than I have hurt you, and you did it deliberately! For god's sake, you murdered my parents-'

'_Think_, just for a moment,' he says. 'Think about how much you cared for your parents.'

I do as he says, and tears come to my eyes as I remember them. I remember my mum's sweet, anxious care, and my dad's easy smile.

'You would have been glad to die in their place, would you not?' he asks.

I look up into his evil, sloping face. 'Yes,' I whisper. 'I would have done anything for them.'

'That is how much I care for my beliefs,' he says bluntly. 'You see, you might claim that we aren't the same, deep down, but we are. All that differs is that you were foolish enough to allow yourself to care for another human being, whereas I learned years ago that the only person you can rely on in this world is yourself. And if you lose your self-respect, then you lose everything.'

I just stare at him, my mouth hanging open.

'You're lying,' I say eventually. 'You can't possibly compare how I felt for my parents to how you feel for a belief system.'

'Can you prove me a liar, Mudblood?' he drawls.

I look at him long and hard, look into those cold, unfeeling eyes, wishing more than anything that I could break into his mind, just once.

But even if I could, would I see that he's lying? Perhaps, to him, it's no lie.

'All I've ever known is that Mudbloods are scum,' he murmurs. 'All of my life, that has been the one thing I knew to be true. Even when I was in Azkaban, and the world seemed to turn its back on me, I could still cling onto that knowledge, and take comfort in the knowledge that I would have my vengeance on every last one of them when I eventually escaped.'

Icy chunks float down my veins. Perhaps this is it. Perhaps this will be the moment when he finally snaps-

'Useless, worthless scum,' he says softly, menacingly. 'Every last one of them.'

He pauses, his eyes softening. He looks as if he's looking at me for the first time.

'Except perhaps…' He hesitates, and when he speaks again his voice is barely more than a whisper. 'Except perhaps _you_.'

He reaches out and tucks a stray lock of hair behind my ear.

'You're… different from the rest of them.'

All I can feel is my heart, beating so hard it's going to burst any second now.

'I'm no different from anyone else,' I whisper.

He smiles a small, bitter smile.

'You foolish Mudblood,' he whispers.

He pulls me closer to him by the waist.

'I have one wish,' he murmurs, 'and that wish is that your blood were pure. God knows where this could have gone if it were.'

He reaches out, slowly, and brushes my dress off my shoulders.

'It would solve everything.' He leans in closer, and closer, until I can't see his face but can only feel his breathing hot on my neck. 'The entire situation would be so much… sweeter.'

And his lips brush onto the side of my neck, just below my jaw, as he grips me hard by the waist. I close my eyes, and as my mouth drops open an involuntary sigh eases from my lips as his lips trail down, down to the base of my throat.

This can't go on for much longer. It really can't.

I slip my hands under the over-jacket of his robes, easing it off of him. He breaks away from me, looking at me strangely for a moment before he removes his clothes, allowing me to help him.

His robes join mine in a tangled heap on the floor, the black swirling in with the pink.

My eye catches the Dark Mark on his wrist.

Except for that one mark. The permanent, horrible reminder of what he is, etched onto his wrist forever.

He walks me back to his bed, pushing me down onto the mattress when we reach it. He looms over me. My breath catches in my chest, just like it always does, because I can never, ever let go of the fear that one day he'll snap and kill me for what I've brought him to…

But not tonight, I don't think. There's too much need in his eyes tonight. A kind of desperate hunger.

He reaches up, running his fingertip down my cheek.

And I can see it again – the black mark on the inside of his forearm, destroying any illusions you could ever have about him.

I take a deep breath before I tentatively reach for his wrist and trace my finger down the mark.

'What did you do tonight?' I ask quietly.

He's frowning at me. 'What do you mean?'

'What horrible things did you do this evening in Voldemort's name?' I whisper. 'What did you do before you came here, in order to further his plans?'

He just looks at me, that tiny frown still knotting his brow. He doesn't understand why I'm asking, of course he doesn't. He could never understand.

He pulls his hand back from mine. 'Do you really want to know?'

I sigh and look down at my own hands, clasped across my naked thighs. My wrists are marked too - vertical scars Lucius made crossed over with the horizontal scars Bellatrix made. Permanent reminders of what this world he lives in can do to a human being.

He has his scars, and I have mine.

He tucks his fingers under my chin, making me look into his eyes. There's no remorse there at all.

'If you really want to know what I did tonight, then ask me again, and I'll tell you.'

I bite my lip. I want to know, but at the same time, I'd almost prefer to live in ignorance, which is something that the old Hermione wouldn't have even considered, but then perhaps that shows just how much he's changed me.

I drop my gaze, allowing my eyes to stray to his shoulder. He has a scar there, too. It's a scar that I made. A knife wound that healed up, long ago.

Unconsciously, my hand moves to my own shoulder, tracing my fingers over my own almost identical scar, which rests in almost the exact same place as his does. The scar that he made. Not one of the invisible ones he etched onto my soul, but one that he gouged into my skin.

His eyes follow my fingers.

'Scars cannot easily be hidden,' he murmurs. 'I have mine, and you have yours.'

'I didn't _choose_ to have mine,' I say bitterly. 'You put that… that _mark_ on your wrist out of choice.'

'And it was an easy choice to make,' he replies. 'A little scarring is a small price to pay for the honour of serving the cause.'

Tears sting in my throat. I can't bear it. I can't _bear_ feeling the way I do for such a monster.

'Would you ever give this life up?' I ask quietly.

'Why on earth would I do that?'

I open my mouth, and I close it again. Whatever answer I want to give, I just can't say to him.

And I don't know whether I want to hear his reply, anyway.

'For _you_?' he asks. 'Would I give this life up for you, is that what you're asking?'

My face burns with humiliation, because I know what's coming now. A lecture on how I mean nothing to him, how I'm nothing more than a piece of shit to him, because I'm a Muggle, in case I'd forgotten…

And sure enough-

'You expect me to give up on my duty, on my _beliefs_, for nothing more than a Mudblood?' he asks quietly.

'Haven't you given up on them already?' I whisper.

'I have given up on _nothing_,' he retorts. 'If I had I would have renounced every belief I hold, but they still hold true for me. You… you are a weakness, I will admit it. I never thought that I would…'

He narrows his eyes at me.

'Does it please you, that you've taken everything that gave my life meaning away from me?'

I'm stung into a reply. How _dare_ he!

'You took everything from me too,' I whisper tearfully. 'You've left me with nothing. I can't even keep hold of Ron anymore, not now that I've betrayed him in one of the worst ways possible.'

'So we have ruined each other's existences, then,' he says resentfully. 'Both of us have left the other without anything left.'

'But it doesn't have to be this way!'

I reach up, brushing my hand onto his cheek and bringing my face closer to his. He closes his eyes for a moment before he opens them to look at me again.

'You could leave this world behind,' I whisper. 'You could.'

He brushes my hand away. 'You don't know what you ask. Would _you_ be willing to become a Death-Eater for me?'

My own automatic reply dries up in my throat.

He curls up a tiny smile. 'You see, there are worse things in this world than death. I know this. That is precisely why I entered this life in the first place. I am not afraid to die. But to give up my beliefs, my ideals, the one thing that has given my life meaning… that I will not do. Not for the world.'

'So tell me,' he says, his voice quiet, 'do you still want to know what I did this evening?'

I bite my lip and I look down at my hands again. I don't want to know, I don't. Ignorance is bliss, and the old Hermione would never agree with that statement, but I'm not that girl anymore, so what does it matter?

He breathes a laugh as he lifts my face up by the chin.

'I didn't think so.'

His lips brush onto mine, lightly at first, before he coaxes my lips open with his own and his kiss deepens, hardens.

His hands roam over my body, running up over my hips and onto my waist, and Jesus, who knows what those hands have done this evening? Tortured, mutilated, maybe even killed…

When you kill, what part of yourself do you have to give away? Harry told me that Dumbledore said it rips your soul in two.

His fingers cup my breast, and a thumb and finger come together to catch my nipple, tugging at it hard, sending electric shocks down to the very pit of my stomach, and he stifles my gasp with his mouth as he bites down on my lower lip.

He pushes me back so I fall onto the mattress, and he looms over me, his hand pressing into my hip as he kisses me urgently.

Why does it bother me so much, that he comes to me after he's tortured and killed? I know first hand what he can do, don't I?

But does that make it any better? He as good as has blood on his hands...

He breaks the kiss eventually and moves down my body, trailing kisses over my torso slowly, painfully slowly, and I know what he's going to do. He's done it so many times before.

I don't know why he does this. I mean… I don't know why he would _want_ to… to a _Mudblood_…

But as he trails his lips between my legs, I know that I don't care anymore. Because nothing matters, not as he licks and sucks and… and _bites_, and it's the strangest feeling in the world, but it's almost enough to make me believe in god again, and my breathing quickens and I spread my legs wider unconsciously as almost unbearable tension builds in the pit of my stomach…

But he moves back up my body, looming over me once again, as breathless as I am, looking down into my face.

There's colour in his cheeks. A pink tinge to his alabaster skin. Another sign of weakness coming from him.

He pushes my legs further apart, so far apart it hurts, and I gasp as he pushes into me, letting his breath out in a sharp rush.

I cling to him as he moves inside of me, so hard I must be bruising him.

He rolls over so that I'm on top of him, astride him. I lie down with my breasts resting on his chest so that I can kiss him.

And he's still moving inside of me, but I can match his movements so much better than I used to be able to. I'm accustomed to it now. I can roll my hips against his in perfect rhythm.

He's taught me so many things.

He breaks the kiss to look up at me, his eyes clouded over and his cheeks full of colour as he watches me, and I'm breathless because he's hitting somewhere deep within me that gives me the feeling you get at the top of a roller-coaster before you come crashing down at a hundred miles an hour, and… and if I roll my hips, like this… it helps him do it…

He groans, throwing his head back and I kiss his exposed neck, wanting to taste him as I feel the need build up more and more, making me want to faint, and scream, and cry…

I moan along with him as he pulls my hips down to his with such force that bones are breaking, I know it, but as he does fireworks go off in the pit of my stomach and electricity rocks through me and in this moment I'm enchanted.

He groans, holding my hips down to his, and I catch his lips in a kiss – one light, weak kiss…

And then we are quiet, lying together, holding each other close still, breathless, until I eventually roll off of him, without saying a word.

After a few moments he pulls a sheet up from the bottom of the bed, draping it over the pair of us.

I turn my head into the pillow. Perhaps I'll just… rest my eyes, just for a moment. I'm so tired, and I won't fall asleep, but perhaps I'll just rest… for a little while…

* * *

Darkness falls away from me.

My eyes flicker open.

I turn my head, looking out into the room.

The fire in the grate has died down. Now only faint embers glow amongst the burnt-out coal.

I must have fallen asleep. I didn't mean to, I really didn't.

He's going to punish me for this. Falling asleep in his bed, it's just… well, it's just too… too _intimate_.

_So what? Could you really get any more intimate with him anyway?_

That's not the point. He won't like it. He'll see it… oh, I don 't know, he'll see it as an invasion of some kind-

Wait a moment…

There's a warm weight around my waist. Heavy, and warm, so warm.

I can hear soft, rhythmic breathing. Breathing that isn't my own.

I turn my head around. He's lying on his side, his eyes closed as he breathes steadily.

He's sleeping.

His arm's around my waist.

A sigh drifts from my lips. He looks so composed, even when he's sleeping. His face is without expression.

How easy would it be to kill him? He's put himself completely at my mercy. I could just take my pillow, put it over his face, and…

I couldn't kill him.

The irony of it brings tears to my eyes. Once upon a time, I would have done anything for an opportunity like this to hurt him, to pay him back for everything he's ever done to me.

Now, though…

Gently, and slowly, I roll onto my side, turning my body fully to face his. I press my forehead into his chest, breathing deeply, taking in the smell of him. The secret smell of him. Musky. Animal. Dangerous.

The light breathing halts.

I don't move.

His arm winds tighter around me, pulling me closer to him, holding me so close that I can barely breathe. He doesn't say anything, and neither do I…

But he's awake. I know that he is.

His arm curls right round me and creeps up my back. He tangles his fingers in my hair.

I don't say anything. I don't even open my eyes. I just lie still until I fall asleep again.

* * *

I drift into consciousness.

His arm isn't around me anymore.

I open my eyes, but there's no-one in the bed next to me.

I sit up quickly, and I see him standing in front of an open cupboard. There's a thud as he puts something down before he closes the door on whatever it is.

He turns around to face me.

He looks like a different man than the one he was last night. Fully clothed, his expression guarded, his eyes cold.

He opens his mouth, as if he's about to say something, but then he closes it again.

I self-consciously tuck a lock of hair behind my ear, not really knowing what to say.

He breaks the silence eventually.

'Aren't you going to get dressed?' he asks.

I press my lips together and climb off the bed, running to the middle of the floor to pick up my robe as quickly as possible.

But he just watches me, one eyebrow raised, as I scramble for the robe, pulling it on over my head.

And then I stand still, and the pair of us just look at each other.

I don't know what to say. After what happened last night, I don't really know where I stand anymore.

A knock.

'Lucius?'

Oh god, oh _god_-

It's Avery.

Lucius looks at me, his eyes wide with fear.

'Lucius, I need to speak with you. It's urgent.'

'Damn,' Lucius whispers, before he strides across the room, picking up the invisibility cloak from the floor and throwing it over me unceremoniously. He checks to see that I'm completely covered before he turns and opens the door.

Avery stands in the open doorway, his face, as always, expressionless.

'The Dark Lord wants to see us,' he says abruptly. 'Both of us. Immediately.'

Lucius pauses before he answers. I can't see his expression.

'Of course,' he says stiffly. 'Of course.'

He turns back to the room, and looks straight at me with his back to Avery. He narrows his eyes at me, before turning and following Avery out of the room, closing the door and locking it behind him.

I stand still, my breathing heavy.

What… what does he want me to do?

He must want me to stay here. If he locked the door, he can't want me to leave…

It would be laughable if the situation wasn't so desperate.

I sink down to the floor, sitting on my heels, making sure that every inch of me is covered by the invisibility cloak, and I wait.

* * *

Oh god.

Oh _no._

There's someone outside the room.

'_Alohamora!_'

The door swings open, and Draco steps into the room.

He sweeps his eyes across his father's bedroom, his eyes narrowed.

His expression relaxes when he sees the room is empty, but then hardens again when he sees the messed-up state of the bed.

I can't breathe. I just can't _breathe_.

He looks at the unmade bed for a few moments, a tiny frown on his face, before he shakes his head in apparent exasperation.

He turns, stepping out of the room and closing the door behind him.

Thank god.

But… but he's still there. I can hear his voice-

'What the hell are _you_ doing here?'

'I've been sent in to mop the floor.' It's Ron's voice. 'But if you want to take the job over, then go ahead, by all means-'

'Don't get arsey with me, Weasley!' Draco hisses. 'Just do what you're here for.'

There's a short pause, and then-

'Enjoyed rooting around in your father's room, did you?' Ron asks. 'You're pathetic. If you want money from him, why don't you just ask?'

'Shut up! And don't tell my father what you just saw, or else I'll make you regret it.'

His footsteps click down the corridor, and then a door bangs.

There's a long silence.

Hang on…

Draco… Draco didn't lock the… oh, the stupid bloody ferret!

Slowly, the door handle moves downwards, and then the door creaks open.

I suck in my breath.

Ron steps through the doorway.

What am I going to _do_?

All I can do is stand still, and hope to god that he doesn't realize I'm here.

What is he _doing_ in here, anyway?

He walks around the room, looking at everything with intense concentration, like he's searching for something.

I don't know what he's looking for – a weapon, maybe? Perhaps some way of getting out of here?

I don't know. I just hold my breath.

He moves around the room, eventually coming to the cupboard Lucius was closing just as I woke up. He opens it, very slowly, pausing when he sees what's in there.

All that's in there is Lucius' penseive. It rests on the shelf, so innocent looking…

But I know only too well what memories he stores in there.

And… and Ron's leaning into it, reaching out with his hand, about to put his fingertips in there-

'Ron, stop!' I shout, throwing the invisibility cloak off of me.

He jumps and turns, his face white with fear.

'Hermione!' he says, smiling in relief for a moment before his face creases itself up. 'What are you doing here?'

'I… I was just cleaning the room,' I say quickly.

He frowns at me. 'Malfoy gets you to clean his room?'

I nod, too quickly.

He looks at me, his eyes narrowed. 'Then why were you wearing an invisibility cloak?' he asks quietly.

'I… I just…' I trail off, before I find myself again. 'You can't go in that Penseive!'

He frowns hard at me. 'Why not? He's not here, is he?' He turns back to the penseive. 'He'll never know-'

'Please, Ron, don't!' I say desperately. 'There can't be anything of interest to you in there.'

He turns to me. 'What do you care if I look in there?' he says slowly. 'It won't hurt you, will it?'

He suspects something now. I can tell.

'I just…' I sputter. 'It… you can't… you just _can't_, Ron! What if he comes back? He'll kill you!'

'He won't come back,' he replies, turning to the penseive again. 'He won't be back for ages, not if he's gone to you-know-who.'

'But you can't get out of there, can you? I know that _I _don't know how to get out of a Penseive-'

'Well I do,' he says quietly. 'I'll show you how, when we're finished. We'll be able to get out, it's easy.'

He leans forward, putting the tips of his fingers into the silver bowl.

'Ron, NO!'

I lunge forward and grip at his hand, and we're pulled forward, and forward, and we're floating hand-in-hand through smoke and cloud, and oh god, what are we going to do? What am _I _going to do?

We come to land in the dining room of the house. Bellatrix, Lucius and Dolohov are all eating their dinner together, drinking wine and engaging in animated, laughter-filled conversation.

'Please, Ron-'

'Hang on a minute,' he replies. 'We'll go in a second, I promise.'

I bite my lip. I can't make too much of a fuss, he'll get suspicious…

'So Lucius,' Bellatrix says loudly, 'where were you this evening? Did the Dark Lord call for you?'

'No,' Lucius says, taking a sip of his wine, 'no, no. I just had some business to attend to.'

'With your pretty little Mudblood, were you?' Dolohov asks, his words slurred.

Bellatrix's face falls, but Lucius merely rolls his eyes.

'Yes, I was with her.'

'Why?' Bellatrix asks, her voice brittle. 'You finished questioning her before we arrived. What more do you need from her?'

'Her arrogance irritates me, and I want to teach her her place,' Lucius says, quite calmly. 'Besides, it's always useful to have something to practice my curses on.'

Bellatrix smiles in apparent relief.

'I know what _I'd _like to practice on her!' Dolohov says, chuckling. 'God, I wish she were my prisoner. You've got all the luck, Lucius.'

Lucius sneers. 'I only wish she _were _your prisoner. The girl is irritating beyond belief.'

'A pretty enough irritation, though,' Dolohov slurs. 'Seriously, Lucius, have you never even considered it? You could do anything-'

'That's enough,' Lucius says sharply. 'She's a Mudblood, Antonin – you know what that means.'

Dolohov just smiles. 'It _means _that she would probably be an enjoyable fuck after a lesson or two. You know what muggles are like – they're all at it like rabbits. She'd probably let you do anything you wanted, and she'd moan like a whore as you did it-'

'I said _enough!_' Lucius says, his voice raised.

Both Dolohov and Bellatrix look at him for a moment, before they go back to their meal in an awkward silence.

Smoke swirls out around Ron and I, and we begin to float again.

'Hermione?' Ron says quietly. 'Are you alright?'

I nod. 'Of course. Why shouldn't I be?'

'Well, you could fry an egg on your face, for starters.'

'Yeah, well… it's not a nice thing to hear, is it?'

'But… but I don't get it,' Ron says, perplexed. 'Why has he got _that _memory stored in here?'

'I don't know. I don't care, either.' I take his hand. 'Please, can we just get out of here?'

He frowns at me, hard. 'Aren't you curious? Not even a little bit?'

'No. Now come _on!_'

He shakes my hand away, and looks at me long and hard. 'Why are you so eager to leave?'

I open my mouth, then shut it again.

There's a long pause.

'What don't you want me to see?' he whispers.

It's a measure of how much that question floors me that I find myself pleased when the fog clear to reveal my bedroom – dark, and lit up by a tiny candle in a withered hand on my bedside table.

My stomach crumbles in horror at what we can see actually _on_ my bed.

I'm lying there on my back in a blood-stained robe, with Lucius sat beside me, looming over me.

Only I can see his face now. I couldn't at the time, but I can now. It's Lucius' memory, after all, and the hand of glory allowed him to see me.

I'm lying there, pinned beneath him, my skirt pulled up to the top of my thighs, my naked legs hooked around his hips.

I hear Ron take in a short breath.

'Are you worth the trouble I have gone to for you?' Lucius murmurs. 'You are, after all, strictly speaking, less than a human being, really.' His hands move down towards my breasts, but I can't take my eyes from his face.

This wasn't all about power, after all, it seems.

'Why should I have gone to such trouble for you?'

I chance a look at Ron.

He looks as if he's about to explode with rage.

I don't know what to say. What could I _possibly _say?

The memory of Lucius pulls my dress down, exposing my breasts.

I cringe. Ron hasn't ever seen me naked before, and I know it's only a memory, but still...

Lucius' eyes are huge and dark as he rakes them over me hungrily, and he laughs as I struggle against him.

But thank god I did. It looks better to Ron, doesn't it, if I struggled?

'There's no point in attempted modesty _now_, Mudblood.'

'You slimy bastard,' Ron whispers. 'You… you…'

Lucius sighs. 'Perhaps you _were _worth my trouble after all.'

Ron turns to me. 'Why… why didn't you try to stop him?'

'Do you think I _wanted_ him to do this?' I ask desperately, my voice rising. 'I didn't have any _choice!_'

Lucius is moving his face closer to mine, and closer, and even though I know what's coming my stomach still contracts with fear.

But he stops, just as I knew he would, and he looks at me.

Just looks at me.

He sits up.

'I don't think so, somehow,' he murmurs. 'You nearly got your way then, didn't you, you little muggle whore.'

And he slaps me, again and again, and the memory of me screams as he hisses at me.

'Shut up you little coward. You disgust me!'

And he throws me across the room. I land on the dressing table, and then the memory fades...

Ron turns to me as we float through smoke, putting his hand on mine.

'What's he done to you, Hermione,' he says furiously. 'What _exactly_ has he done to you? I'll kill him, I swear, I'll kill the sick bastard.'

But I just shake my head, because I have no idea what else is coming.

I'm safest just saying nothing.

We emerge in the light of my room once again, but it's a different time entirely.

And I'm there, lying on the ground on my front, shaking with sobs.

But I'm wearing the same robe I was wearing in the scene we just saw.

I think I know when this was.

'God, Hermione, what's he done to you?' Ron asks.

Good question.

The memory of Lucius bangs the door open.

'I thought I told you to get up before I got back!'

He raises his wand, and the memory Hermione cries out in pain before stumbling to her feet, and he drags her across the room, pinning her to the wall.

Ron turns to me, the real me. 'How can you let him _do_ this to you?'

'What else can I do?' I ask furiously. 'Have you ever been able to fight against Bellatrix, or Avery? They have _wands_, for god's sake! Besides, even if he didn't have a wand, he's far stronger than I'll ever be-'

'But this is ridiculous! Look at yourself! You're letting him do whatever he likes with you!'

'I don't have any choice!' I say, my voice cracking. 'I don't ever have any choice, _ever_! He won't give me a choice. He never has-'

I stop myself before I can say anymore.

'You see, Mudblood, you belong to me,' the memory of Lucius says quietly. Both Ron and I turn to see him running his thumb over my memory's lips. His face is too close to mine, far too close. 'And you know it. I see the truth staring back at me from those defenceless eyes of yours.'

I gulp down hard. 'Ron, I-'

'Shhh.'

Almost crying with sheer desperation, I turn back to face the scene.

The memory of Lucius brings his fingers away from my face and he reaches down for my hand, pining it against the wall. 'You know that I haven't taken control of you – you have handed yourself over, given me complete power over you willingly. Not without protest, of course, but now you have allowed me into your soul.'

And the memory of me gasps in pain as a red welt emerges on my arm.

'Weasley's… _charms_ just don't compare to the hold I have over you, Mudblood. And you know it. It's pathetic, laughable, even, how you have unwillingly allowed yourself to depend your entire existence on me.'

I chance a look at Ron. His face looks oddly pinched.

I reach out to him. 'Don't listen, Ron,' I whisper. 'He was just trying to get to me, that's all. It's not true, none of it is.'

Smoke swirls around us once again, shielding his expression from me, and when we emerge from it for one blissful moment I wonder whether we've left the Penseive…

But we haven't. We might have emerged in Lucius' room, but we're still only in a memory.

Lucius is there, standing in the corner of his room, looking intently at the full-length mirror held on the wall in front of him.

He just stands there for ages, staring at his reflection. His face holds a whole world of revulsion and hatred.

'What's he doing?' Ron asks quietly.

But a moment later, his question is answered.

Lucius turns and picks up a silver candlestick that rests on a nearby table, which he throws at the mirror. The glass shatters, spilling onto the floor.

Ron exclaims in shock, but I can hardly hear him. All I can take in at this moment is Lucius as he watches the broken glass fall around his feet.

And then smoke billows out of nowhere, shielding the scene from us.

'What the hell was that all about?' Ron asks.

But I know _exactly_ what that was all about.

When we emerge from the smoke again, I know that my life is over. It's all over.

Everything I've ever had with Ron is over.

We're in Lucius' room again. But he's not there alone this time.

I'm there with him, my face stained with tears.

'We're not so different, you and I. It was you yourself who told me that, remember?'

I turn and I grab Ron's arm. 'Please, Ron, let's get out of here,' I say rapidly. 'Come on, I'm _begging_ you, let's get out of here now, please, you can't see-'

But he ignores me. He just stares ahead at the scene in front of us, watching the memory of me walk towards Lucius.

And I can't lie to him. Not anymore.

'I will not-' Lucius mutters, before the memory of me reaches up and puts my hands on his face.

'I'm a human being, Lucius. Just like you.'

I shake Ron's arm in sheer desperation.

'_Please_, Ron!'

But he's deaf to me. He just looks on with uncomprehending horror as the memory of me reaches up and kisses Lucius, and Lucius breaks away from me, looking at me for a second before kissing me furiously, and lifting me up and carrying me over to his bed.

I know then, as I look at Ron, how someone looks when their heart breaks.

I gasp out a sob, bringing my hands to cover my mouth.

I turn around, away from everything and without even being able to register it my legs give way and I fall to the ground, landing on my knees.

All I can do is sob silently, clutching at my hair as Ron watches me betray him in the very worst way possible.

But… but I can't turn away from the _noises. _Gasps and groans and cries, falling from Lucius' mouth, from _my _mouth.

I can't stand it. I cover my ears up to blot out the noise. I can't, I _won't _hear what Ron can hear.

But it's not over yet.

Mist swirls out of nowhere, engulfing me, and cautiously I lift my head, lowering my hands from my ears.

There's no sound anymore.

Slowly, ever so slowly, I turn around. I can't look at Ron, and if I did all I'd see is the back of his head, but I look past him to the memory that plays out in front of us.

We're still in Lucius' room, but it's a different time altogether. At first I think the room is empty, but then I take in the rose-pink robe on the floor, tangled up with other robes of black.

And then I see the bed.

I'm lying there on my back, one arm curled above my head. My eyes are closed, and my chest rises and falls with soft, steady breaths.

And Lucius is lying there next to me. Watching me.

He reaches out and runs a finger down my cheek. I shift in my sleep, breathing out a tiny sigh.

His eyes widen for a second, before he slowly, tentatively, winds his arm around my waist and sinks down onto the mattress next to me, allowing himself to fall asleep with me in his arms.

I hear a tiny sniff, but it hasn't come from the memory we're standing in.

Ron turns around, and only now do I chance a look at him.

He keeps his eyes on the floor.

His face is wet with tears.

He sniffs again, and he rolls his eyes to look upwards.

'Take me back,' he whispers, his voice hoarse.

And then there's a huge swooshing noise, and I see him rise up, and up, quicker and quicker…

And then he's gone.

Tears roll down my cheeks.

What have I done?

I stand still, closing my eyes, the tears coming thicker and faster.

I can't go back out there. I can't. How can I ever face Ron again?

But… but I can hardly stay here forever, can I?

God, I only wish that I could.

I take a huge gulp of air into my lungs before I look up at the non-existent ceiling.

'Take me back,' I whisper, my voice barely a thread.

And I feel myself being pulled up, and up, air roaring past my ears as I'm pulled out of the penseive and into Lucius's bedroom.


	33. Damaged Beyond Repair

'_It is for him and through him, at the same time, that I am suffering. In vain do I try to escape. He follows me, he is there, he haunts me constantly… His eyes express only hatred and scorn. His mouth utters nothing but insult and reproach. His arms embrace me only to tear me to shreds. Who can save me from his barbarous fury?' – _Choderlos De Laclos, _Dangerous Liasons_

* * *

I fall to the floor, grazing my hands and knees on the stone.

Look up… no, I can't.

I keep my eyes on my hands. My gaze lingers on the white, wrinkly burn scar on the back of my left hand.

Breathe… I've got to keep breathing.

It's hard to keep breathing.

Listen…

Quiet breathing. Not my own, but coming from the other side of the room.

I close my eyes. Deep breath. In… and out…

Okay. I can do this… no, I can't, I just _can't_…

I can. I _have_ to. He deserves an explanation, if nothing else.

Slowly, I push myself up to my feet. Every muscle screams in protest, but somehow, god knows how, I manage to stand up.

Okay… now… raise the head. Easy enough just to raise my head, surely?

He's not looking at me.

He takes a deep breath, one that heaves his shoulders.

'No wonder you didn't want me to go in the penseive.'

I bite down on my lip, hard. 'It's not what it looks like,' I say, almost cringing as I say the words.

He turns around. His face is still wet with tears but his eyes are hard. 'Then what _is_ going on, Hermione? Because from what I've just seen, it looks like you're fucking Lucius Malfoy!'

He starts to walk over to me, his voice rising.

'But that can't be it, can it, not if you tell me that there's nothing going on! And you've told me so _many_ times that there's nothing going on, over and over again. You looked me in the eye and you _lied_ to me, because all this time you've been letting Lucius _fucking_ Malfoy fuck you!'

I back myself against the wall, almost sobbing.

'Please… please, don't shout! Ron, you need to understand-'

'HOW COULD I _UNDERSTAND?_' he shouts. 'How can you… how can you even _think_ about it? Don't you know what he is?'

'Of course I do! You know what he's put me through, Ron, of _course_ I know what he is-'

'_THEN HOW CAN YOU BEAR IT_? He's a monster, a murderer, a bigot… for god's sake, Hermione, he killed your _parents!_'

'I know!' I say in desperation. 'I know, I can't ever forget it.'

He just looks at me incredulously before he turns, pacing around the room.

'I just… I just don't _understand!_' he says. 'How can you… how can you even… he's old enough to be your _father_…'

He brings his hands up to his face, clutching at it.

Perhaps… perhaps if I could just reach-

But he shakes away my hand. 'Don't _touch_ me!' he hisses. 'You… you're a bloody _traitor_, Hermione! I don't want you to touch me!'

I cover my mouth with my hand to try to stop the fresh torrent of sobs.

His own eyes brighten and he turns from me.

'Listen to me. Please, you just need to listen-'

'Why?' he asks. 'Why should I listen to anything you have to say?'

'Because you've got to understand,' I whisper, tears streaming down my face. 'You need to know why… please, just listen to me. And when I've finished you can hate me, and you can cut me out of your life forever, but first you need to know why I'm doing this.'

He glares at me for a few moments before he nods, although he looks very much as if he's forcing himself to keep from shouting at me.

I take a deep breath, trying to straighten out the jumble and mess that is my brain right now.

_The beginning. Go back to the beginning._

I breathe, and I begin.

'When I was first captured…'

God, it's so hard to remember what happened so long ago, now.

How much detail do I need to put in? Do I need to tell him about how he carried me through the woods? How he forced me to slice open my own leg? How he couldn't look me in the eye after he'd tortured me?

No. Start again.

'When I was first captured, he tortured me for hours and hours on end,' I whisper, my voice a thread. 'He needed me to give him answers, he said.'

Ron looks very much as if he wants to say something, but he doesn't. And so I carry on.

'I asked him… I _begged_ him over and over again to stop, but he wouldn't. He had his job to do, and he said that as a Mudblood I had no right to expect any leniency from him. Although occasionally…'

I pause for a moment, forcing myself to go on.

'Occasionally, I thought I could see something. Something in his eyes, when I asked him to stop-'

Ron snorts. 'It probably turned him on,' he mutters. 'He probably gets his kicks from torturing young girls until they beg and scream for mercy-'

'_No_!' I say desperately. 'No, Ron, you've got to _listen!_ It wasn't like that! It was like he felt… like he felt _sorry_ for me, almost.'

He exhales sharply, folding his arms. 'So what was it that led to what I just saw, then?' he asks. 'Did he tell you he'd stop if you fucked him, is that it? I wouldn't put it past him-'

'No!' I say, although to lie about that would probably make everything so much easier. 'No, Ron, that's not it. Please, just listen. I know that he didn't… that he didn't think of me in _that _way. Not at first, anyway. I know because… because when Bellatrix and Dolohov joined him to torture me, Bellatrix tried to get him to… to take my clothes off, but he wouldn't. He said it made him feel sick even to _think_ about it, what with me being a Mudblood and everything.'

'Don't…' he says quietly. 'Don't call yourself that.'

A long silence stretches out between us

But I cling onto the fact that he doesn't hate me enough to call me a Mudblood. Not like Lucius, who hates me so much he doesn't care how much he uses that word.

'Go on, then,' he says, his voice tight.

I draw in a breath. 'When we got here… things changed. I… I managed to get hold of a knife when we first arrived, and I… I stabbed him with it.'

He doesn't say anything. I would have expected him to react before now, but it's been overshadowed by everything else.

He doesn't even look at me.

'Everything changed after that,' I whisper. 'That's why he locked me in the cellar. He wanted to punish me for what I'd done…'

I pause, because this is where things stop making sense, even for me.

'He was just… with me, _all _the time.'

He still won't look at me.

'I don't know how exactly it changed, or when. But it _did_ change, gradually. Little things started to happen. He would… he would touch my face, or my hair. Then one day, Dolohov came to my room and… and tried it on, but Lucius came in to save me. He said it was because he didn't want a pureblood mixing with a Mudblood. But then the next day Voldemort said that he didn't have any more use for me, and he gave Lucius the opportunity to kill me, but he… he wouldn't.'

Ron looks up then. 'Oh, he'd do so _much_ for you, wouldn't he?' he says furiously. 'Like killing your parents, for example. Oh, he'd do _anything_ for you-'

'No, Ron, listen – he _did _do that for me!' I say. 'I know it sounds ridiculous, but... Voldemort gave him a choice – he said that either Lucius could kill me, or he could kill my parents. I hate him for it – oh god, I hate him for it - but he killed my parents to… to save me.'

Ron just gives me a long hard look, one that tells me he thinks I'm losing my mind.

'What you saw in the penseive,' I say, 'that scene where he… where he _touched_ me, and then beat me up… that happened just after the night at your house, where he came after me instead of Harry. It was then that I started to understand-'

'I'll tell you what _I _don't _understand_,' he cuts in. 'In that memory… Jesus, Hermione, I thought that he was trying to _rape_ you. I thought, when I saw that, that you might not want me to see the memories because they might show that he'd forced you. For god's sake, he beat you up after touching you up! And you were _fighting_ him…'

He pauses for breath.

'But then, later you were just all too happy to let him do what he wanted, weren't you?' he says. 'It was_ you_ who kissed _him_. Pushing him into it, almost-'

'It wasn't like that! I mean, yes, but at first… I didn't _want_ to at first. But… we just saw each other all the time and everything flew out of control, and I just… I swear to you that when it started, I mean _properly_ started, it wasn't me who initiated it. It was all him – I even tried to fight him off, but…'

I trail off. I can't speak anymore. I just don't know how I could ever explain it.

He turns away from me, sniffing loudly.

'Oh _god. _I thought… I just _knew _that something…' He sighs, bringing his hands to his face. 'You must have a right laugh at me, the pair of you.'

I walk over to him, putting my hands on his shoulders.

'No,' I whisper. 'No, Ron. I hate myself for doing this to you, I really-'

He shrugs my hand away, looking at me with eyes that are wet and dark with pain.

'So where does this leave us?'

I suck in a sob, biting my lip. 'Ron, I'm so sorry.'

It's all I can say.

'You know,' he says, 'all this time, when everything's been so awful, do you know what's kept me going?'

I shake my head, not because I don't know what he's going to say, but because I know only too well.

'I've held on, through everything, for _you_!' he shouts. 'And now I find out that you've been fucking a Death Eater for God only knows how long!'

'I know,' I sob. 'I can't ask you to forgive me, Ron. But I've clinged on to you, too. You're the one bit of good left in my world. I couldn't _tell_ you how much you mean to me!'

'More than him?' he asks.

'Of _course_ more than him! You're my whole world! I would give everything I have not to hurt you-'

'Everything you _have?_' he asks bitterly. 'What on Earth do you have left to give? He's taken _everything_ away from you.'

And it's true. God help me, but it's true.

'What is it about him?' he asks. 'Why him? What in the name of hell has a monster like him got to offer you?'

I bite my lip, tears springing in my eyes. 'Oh Ron, what does it matter?'

'It _matters_,' he says in a furious whisper. 'He's taken you away from… I want to know what it is about him you want so badly.'

I pause, taking a few deep breaths.

'It's not that I _want_ him. It's not like that,' I say quietly. 'It's just… he told me I was nothing. Again and again, he told me I was nothing more than dirt. A Mudblood, an abomination, a freak of nature, a waste of air. He worked day and night to try and make me believe it. It got to the point where… where I almost _did_ start to believe it.'

It's so hard to put this in to words, but I've got to try. He deserves to know.

'But… when I realized that he might… that he might want something more from me… it made me…'

I close my eyes for a second.

'It made me feel human again,' I whisper. 'Because in giving in to how he feels, he's going against everything he believes in, just for me. And that must mean I'm worth _something._'

Ron looks ready to kill somebody.

'_I_ never believed you weren't a human being, Hermione. I never saw you as a piece of dirt, or a throwback. You meant more to me than anybody else in the world!'

Tears stream out of my eyes.

'I would have looked after you,' he goes on. 'I _wanted_ to take care of you. Whenever I saw you, I could see how much pain you were in, and how much you were hurting.' He gulps in a sob, and when he speaks again his voice cracks. 'I would have given up the whole _world _just to make it stop. For god's sake, Hermione, I _loved_ you! And call me naïve if you want, but I thought you might love me too!'

'Oh, Ron!' I whimper, trying to touch his arm again but he flinches, backing away from me.

And it breaks my heart. Because all I wanted since my fourth year of Hogwarts was to hear him say those words, but I've thrown it all away, thrown it back in his face, and for what?

'I loved you too, Ron!' I whisper, my voice thick with tears. 'I still do!'

'If that's true, then why in hell have you turned to him – _him _– to try and make everything better! For god's sake, he's the one who ruined your life in the first place!'

'I know!' I say desperately. 'I can't… it's too difficult to explain, Ron. I know it sounds like I'm going insane. But nothing about the whole situation has ever made sense, ever.'

He looks at me for a few seconds, before he turns from me. 'So…' His voice comes out tight. 'So he… he brings you here every night, does he? He just… does whatever…' His words are cut off as he makes an odd choking sound. 'God, it's just… all I can see is him _touching_ you, and…'

He chokes again, wrapping his arms around his head.

'Oh _god_!' he gasps out.

He turns to face me again, his eyes bright with tears as he shakes his head.

'How can you stand it?' he asks, his voice cracking.

I give him the only answer I know.

'I can stand anything,' I whisper, 'as long as I've got you.'

I reach out to him. He closes his eyes and turns his face from me, though he doesn't fully recoil this time as my palm touches his face.

'Please, Ron,' I say, my voice breaking. 'Please don't hate me.'

He turns to face me. 'I don't hate _you_, Hermione. I hate what you're doing, and I hate _him_, but…' He takes a deep breath. 'It's not your fault. I know you. You'd never willingly sleep with a Death-Eater, not in normal circumstances. It's all _his_ fault, I know.'

I gulp. 'Ron, I-'

The door swings open, and Lucius strides in the room.

He freezes when he sees Ron. 'What the hell is _he_ doing here?' he asks furiously.

'You… you…' Ron sputters, before he charges at Lucius, his fist raised. 'YOU SICK BASTARD! I'll kill you, I'LL KILL YOU!-'

_-slam-_

Lucius recoils, clutching at his nose after Ron slams his fist into it.

'You got what you wanted, didn't you, you BASTARD!' Ron screams. 'How dare you, how fucking _DARE _you-'

'_Impedimenta!_'

Ron is thrown backwards, and he slams into the wall behind him.

'_Ron_!'

But Lucius grabs me by the arm, wrenching me towards him.

'What has happened?' he asks, his voice little more than a whisper.

I just stare at him, feeling my lips twitch as I try to tell him, but I can't, I just can't.

His shakes me furiously. 'For god's sake, answer me!'

'I'll tell you,' I hear from behind me.

Ron pulls himself up to his feet, his face red with fury.

'Well,' Lucius drawls, his tone malicious but there's a vein of steel running through it, 'I wasn't talking to you, Wesley, and it's bad manners to intrude on another person's conversation-'

'_SHUT UP!_' Ron yells. 'I _know,_ alright! I know what's going on between you two. So don't you patronize me, you _bastard!_'

I chance a look up at Lucius. His face is chalk-white, and his eyes are wide and huge.

'How… how could you…?'

He grips at my arms and draws me towards him, shaking me hard.

'How did he find out?' he asks through gritted teeth.

I just stare up at him. 'I…'

His eyes are slits of rage. 'Good god, what have you done? You _stupid_ girl, how did he…'

He draws his hand back to slap me across the face. I cry out and I spin, falling from his arms down to the floor.

'You stupid_ bitch_!' he hisses. 'How the _hell_ did he-'

'Leave her_ ALONE!_' Ron yells as he puts a hand under my arm, helping me to my feet. 'It wasn't _her_ fault! If you want someone to blame, try your idiot son!'

Lucius's face loses the tiny amount of colour it has left in it. 'What do you mean by that?'

Ron laughs bitterly. 'Oh, don't worry, he doesn't _know_! Not as far as I'm aware, anyway. But it's his fault I got in. He came in here when I was cleaning the corridor, and when he left he forgot to lock the door again.'

Lucius just looks at the pair of us. I know what he's wondering – I'd be thinking about it myself if I wasn't so pre-occupied with everything else. Why _was _Draco snooping about in his father's room?

'And when I got in here, I realized you'd left your cupboard open,' Ron says triumphantly, almost smiling. 'That was quite a mistake, wasn't it? Leaving something that important unattended where anyone could find it-'

In a snap-second Lucius raises his wand in temper and Ron gasps, doubling over slightly.

'I wouldn't expect _you_ to understand my actions,' Lucius says. 'After all, it's not as if you have the Mudblood's brains, is it?'

Ron's fists clench by his sides. I reach out and put my hand on his arm.

Lucius' eyes flick down to my hand, just for a second, before they come to rest on Ron again.

'Avery called me away suddenly,' he says. 'I couldn't lock the cupboard door without revealing to him that I have something worth hiding away in there.'

I take in a short breath. So he _does _think we've got reason to be worried about Avery. I was starting to think it was only me who thought so.

Ron shakes his head in exasperation. 'It doesn't _matter! __How_ I found out isn't important, what's important is that I know!'

Lucius nods. 'Yes, you know,' he says quietly. 'But you shall not remember it; I shall make sure of that.'

No. No, he can't do this to Ron, too. I won't let him.

I step out in between Ron and Lucius, staring Lucius down.

'What the _hell_ do you think you're doing?' he asks incredulously.

'You can't obliviate him,' I say, as steadily as I can. 'I won't let you.'

'Have you _completely_ lost your mind?' he hisses at me.

'He doesn't deserve this, Lucius. Just listen to what he has to say, please!'

'And why should I?'

Ron pushes past me. 'You are going to listen to me, you _bastard!_ If you don't want me to shout about what I've discovered at the top of my lungs for all to hear, then you will listen to what I have to say!'

Lucius raises his wand again quickly. Ron flinches, but he stands his ground, glaring up at Lucius, who slowly, very slowly, lowers his wand.

'Very well,' he says.

Ron stares at him with absolute loathing for a few moments before he eventually speaks.

'You're _sick. _You're twisted. You… _you…_'

He struggles for a moment, his face contorting.

Lucius curls up a sneer. 'Yes?'

'_SHUT UP_!' Ron yells, his face flushing a deep shade of maroon.

Lucius just raises an eyebrow, taking a deep breath. 'Say what you must, Weasley,' he mutters.

He almost sounds resigned. As if nothing Ron has to say could be new to him – he's probably said it to himself a thousand times.

Ron looks at him murderously for a few moments. 'What's your problem?' he asks. 'She's… for god's sake, she's young enough to be your _daughter_!'

Lucius' fingers flex by his side, but he manages to keep his face impassive.

'You're _disgusting_!' Ron hisses.

Lucius breathes a small laugh. 'So forthright, Weasley,' he drawls, as he walks behind me. 'It's amazing what lows jealousy can prompt us to take.'

'_Lows?_ Can you hear yourself?' Ron asks. 'She's barely _eighteen_! What is it – do you get off on taking advantage of teenage girls?'

Lucius is close to me now. I can feel his warmth by my shoulder, his breathing on my neck.

'You overestimate her, I fear,' he murmurs, and I feel a hand brushing onto my shoulder, brushing up and eventually entangling it's fingers in my hair, and the hairs on the back of my neck stand upright as his breathing skates on my cheek.

'I have taken advantage of nobody.' Lucius' whisper is hot on my skin. 'You see, she _welcomes _what I do to her.'

Ron raises his fist and Lucius's wand arm extends over my shoulder. Ron lowers his fist, making Lucius chuckle.

'Ah, the indomitable _courage_ of Gryffindors.'

'I'll _kill _you Malfoy!' Ron's voice is thick. 'I swear to god, I'll kill you. You're not _worthy _to touch her.'

'I'll do whatever I like with her, Weasley!' Lucius drawls triumphantly, and he hooks his fingers onto my neck, running them down over my skin. 'I can touch,' he trails his fingers _down_, 'whatever part of her I like.'

I wrench myself away from Lucius, turning to face him.

'I'm not _yours_!' I hiss.

But he just looks at me, one eyebrow raised. 'So you'll leave me, will you? For _him_? You really think I'd allow such a thing?'

I step back from him. 'You're despicable,' I whisper.

Ron steps up next to me, putting his hand on my arm.

'She knows you for what you are, Malfoy,' Ron says furiously. 'Don't fool yourself that she might… that she might _love_ you, because she doesn't. She hates you-'

'And yet she _still _wants me,' Lucius drawls. 'She might hate me more than anything else in the world, but she needs me more than she'll ever need you. And she knows it.'

This… this isn't just _sick_ anymore. It needs it's own definition for how _wrong_ it is.

I need to get out of here. I need to be free of him.

Ron takes hold of my hand, turning me to face him. 'I need you to tell me the truth, Hermione,' he says quietly. 'You're free to… to be with him, if you want, but just don't lie to me. Not again.'

I swallow down the guilt that pounds in my chest, and I nod.

'Is he telling the truth?' he asks.

I open my mouth, but bite down my automatic denial. Don't lie to me, he said. Don't lie to me.

I don't know the answer.

Ron's face is bright with desperation.

'You don't need him,' he whispers. 'He can't protect you, not really – he's just using that as an excuse to make you do whatever he wants.'

I look at his kind, honest face, and I wonder why the hell I'm giving him up for Lucius, who lies to me every moment of every day, because the awful truth of the situation is too much for him to deal with.

'Mudblood.'

Oh, _why _does that word have such a hold over me? Why have those two drawled syllables nailed themselves permanently onto my soul, so now I answer to them almost involuntarily?

I turn to face him.

He's just staring at me, his piercing gaze looking past my eyes as if they were no more than clear panes of glass. He's using legimilency on me. He hasn't done that for a while.

I feel my face creasing into tears again.

He _knows_. He knows me far too well. I feel the invisible hand of legimilency withdraw from my mind as he smiles the smallest of smiles.

I feel Ron's fingers grip around my own again.

'Hermione,' he whispers, his voice shaking. 'You don't have to do as he says. You don't belong to him.'

Who do I want to be? Should I be Hermione, or should I be Mudblood?

A lone tear runs down my cheek.

Ron's eyes follow the tear as it makes its slow progress down my cheek to my chin. His face hardens and he turns to Lucius.

'Why can't you just let her go?' he asks. 'For god's sake, what do you want from her?'

Lucius' expression remains cold. 'I don't have to justify myself to you, Weasley.'

Ron shakes his head, almost laughing. 'What do you want?' he asks. 'Do you want her to _love_ you, is that it? No-one can love someone who abuses them – and that's what you're doing, Malfoy, don't kid yourself otherwise.'

Lucius breathes a mocking laugh. 'And you'd know so _much_ about making women love you, wouldn't you?'

'Stop it! That's enough,' I say to Lucius, but he ignores me. He steps up closer to Ron.

'Don't presume to tell me anything at all about the Mudblood, Weasley. I know her far better than you do. I know…' he pauses, running his tongue over his teeth, 'every last part of her. Every part you'll never know.'

And with that Ron's fist raises, flying at Lucius' face, but Lucius is too quick for him this time. He ducks, throwing his own fist into Ron's stomach.

Ron doubles over, falling to the ground and Lucius kicks out at him with a sickening crunch, again and again-

'Leave him alone!' I scream, grabbing Lucius and trying to wrench him away, but Lucius kicks him again.

'I've put up with you for too long, Weasley!' he hisses. 'Believe me, if it were up to me I would have killed you the moment I saw you lay your hands on her!'

I leap up, throwing my arms around his neck from behind and dragging him back. He spins around, throwing me off of him as his eyes blaze with fury.

'Damn you, what's the _matter_ with you?'

His hand flies across my face in a slap.

I fall to the ground.

Oh…

Oh.

I start to cry.

Lucius looks down at his hand and spreads out his fingers in apparent disbelief.

Ron pulls himself to his feet, taking deep, gulping breaths. He's got blood streaming from his mouth, and his eye is blackening.

'Oh yes, Malfoy,' he says bitterly. 'You care so much for Hermione that you beat her up without a thought.'

Lucius takes a deep breath through his nose, looking down at me for long, painful moments, before he turns to face Ron. 'I never said that I _cared_ for her,' he says quietly.

I blink. That _hurt._

'And do you really think that makes it any better?' Ron shakes his head. 'You bastard, Malfoy. I swear, one day I will kill you.'

I expect Lucius to laugh derisively. I know that under normal circumstances he would. But as I look up at him I realize that he knows that this is not a game anymore.

'You might want _me_ to die, Weasley,' he says, before he turns to face me. 'But what you have to ask yourself is – do you wish death on _her_?'

'What are you talking about?' Ron asks.

But the answer, thankfully, isn't what I almost expect.

'If you were to tell anyone what you have discovered today,' Lucius says, his eyes on mine, 'then you will surely get your wish. I will die immediately, perhaps even at the hands of the Dark Lord himself.' He takes a deep breath. 'But then, so would your little Mudblood friend. They would not allow her to live, after what we have done.'

Ron's eyes are wide trenchers. 'They wouldn't-'

'They would,' Lucius says flatly. 'And they would have no hesitation in doing so. If anything, she is more likely than I am to die if we are discovered. And I would be certain to die.' He pauses, his cheek twitching. 'It is an absolute certainty.'

It really hits me then. This is so _dangerous_. God only knows what we'll do if we're found out…

Well, no, I know what we'll do. We will die. As Lucius said, it's an absolute certainty.

This has to end. Even if Ron _does_ decide to keep quiet for us, this all has to end now.

After what feels like a lifetime Lucius blinks and turns to face Ron again, his face stony.

'So what's it to be, Weasley?' he asks. 'Will you take your revenge on me, and send your precious Mudblood to her grave while you're at it, or will you keep our… our _secret_… for us?'

Ron's glare at me is almost accusatory. And no wonder. I've betrayed him in the worst way possible, and now I've got the nerve to ask for his help.

I just stare at him.

_Please._

He blinks, and looking as if every movement is costing him more than the world, he nods.

'I'll keep it,' he murmurs.

My eyes close in silent prayer for a moment, until I remember that I don't believe in God anymore.

Ron looks at me for a few seconds, his eyes threatening to spill over, before he turns to Lucius.

'But I'll keep it for _her,_ not for you,' he says. 'And one day, when all this is over and done with, I will kill you for what you have done, Malfoy. I swear it.'

Lucius rolls his eyes, his sigh of relief barely audible.

'If you say so, Weasley.' He heads towards the door. 'Now come along. You need to go back to your room. Bellatrix and Avery will no doubt check on you soon.'

Ron glares at him mutinously. 'And why should I do anything _you_ say? In case you'd forgotten, you _owe_ me, Malfoy-'

Lucius turns, pointing his wand directly into Ron's face, his own expression hard with restrained anger.

'I know that you have no desire to do as I tell you,' he mutters, before grabbing at Ron's arm. 'And that is why I give you no choice. If your guards find your room empty, they will go looking for you. And I cannot afford for their search to find its way here.'

He pulls a key out of his robes, still clutching at Ron's arm, before he turns to me.

'Wait here for my return, Mudblood,' he says coldly.

And then there is nothing as the pair of them disappear into thin air.


	34. Irredeemable

_O Rose, thou art sick!  
The Invisible worm,  
That flies in the night,  
In the howling storm, _

_Has found out thy bed  
Of Crimson joy;  
And his dark secret love  
Does thy life destroy_' – William Blake, _The Sick Rose_

* * *

'_You will not get away from me. I'm damned if I'm going to give you up. I'll never let you go, do you understand me?'_

I still have nightmares about those words.

Though everything else he said that evening blurs and distorts over time, those words remain clear in my memory. His voice was harsh, angry, and absolutely certain. He was not going to give me up. He knew that then just as he knows it now, even if he didn't understand why.

He won't end what's going on between us just because Ron knows. I know that he won't. Because he knows that Ron will keep it a secret for me forever, if he has to.

So it falls into my lap, then.

'_You will not get away from me…'_

Perhaps… perhaps there's only one way out of this for me. The one, irrevocable way out for me, for both of us.

I'd be doing Ron a favor, too. God knows, he probably doesn't ever want to see me again, not after what I've done to him.

A tear trickles down my cheek at the memory of Ron's face, but I angrily brush it away. I've brought this all on myself.

'_You have brought this upon yourself, Hermione…'_

But… but I never _tried_… I didn't ever want things to be this way! And it's not as if I haven't tried to end it all forever. Countless times I've tried. But he'll never let me, even though he's said time and time again that he'd do anything to be able to end it between us.

Anything, it seems, except letting me go forever.

'_I'm damned if I'm going to give you up…'_

He's a paradox. A walking, living, breathing paradox.

A pure-blood supremist that's sleeping with a Mudblood. A husband and father incapable of love. A black hearted monster in the guise of an impossibly elegant aristocrat.

I mean, look at this room. It's beautiful. So elaborately furnished. He cares so much for appearances and refinement, and yet his soul is so black and so twisted that it's perhaps the ugliest thing I've ever come across.

'_You will not get away from me…'_

Drowning is one of the better ways to die. That's what people say.

But how can I believe that? I've almost drowned twice since I was captured. It's painful. Really painful.

Besides, the last time I tried that… he only stopped me, once again. _Saved _me…

After trying to drown me himself, first.

'_I'll never, ever let you go…'_

I could try hanging. That might work. Perhaps I could use my bed-sheets, and twist them into ropes…

But no. There's nothing I could hang myself _from…_

And I don't want to slash my wrists, either. I just don't think I'd be able to force myself to. My wrists have been slashed twice now, and both times it hurt so badly I just… I don't think I could do it again.

So I'm trapped, then. Trapped in this horrible, twisted, futureless _relationship _with him…

It's not a relationship, anyway.

I sink down to the floor, clinging at the roots of my hair, trying desperately to make the throbbing, all-encompassing agony I'm feeling inside of me go away.

Sometimes I think that the one real happiness I can imagine is to die.

I'd never seen someone with a broken heart before this evening. The way Ron looked at me with such betrayal…

He'll never trust me again. He probably won't even be able to _look_ at me.

It starts off as a silent weeping, with tears rolling slowly down my cheeks, but before long sobs are riding through my chest and bursting loud of my mouth, and soon I'm keening, rocking back and forth as I sit on my heels.

Warm fingers hook into my chin.

I didn't even hear him come in.

I look into his eyes. I have no choice…

But when have I ever been given any choice?

I look at him, and I truly wish that I were dead. His cruel, hated, pale face is all that I have left in the whole world now.

He's angry, I can tell. But it's a quiet, contained anger.

He reaches out, brushing my tears away with his thumb.

Why does he do this? Why does he let me believe that he might be capable of any real feeling?

Any show of kindness or… or _affection_ from him only ever succeeds in breaking my heart just that little bit more. Because either it's false affection, or he's lying to me about how he really feels. Either way, I can't win.

He brings his thumb to rest on my chin, and for long moments he just stares at me, looking as if he'd do anything to understand something about me, but he can't, no matter how hard he tries. It's the fierce look of determination, concentration, but ultimate hopelessness you'd wear if you were pushing against a brick wall.

Eventually he takes a deep breath through his nose.

'You told me once that I would never see your tears again,' he murmurs. 'And yet every time I see you they never seem to cease.'

'It's you who causes them, that's why,' I retort. 'So if they irritate you so much, you have only yourself to blame.'

His mouth sets itself in a thin line for a moment. 'I didn't say that they _still_ irritated me.'

'So how do they affect you now?' I ask furiously. 'I suppose that you _enjoy_ them, don't you? It's probably the highlight of your day to see me cry.'

He shakes his head. 'You seem to be laboring under the misapprehension that I enjoy misery.'

I feel myself snap in half. 'Well, _don't you?_ God knows, you seem to spend your whole time trying to make me as miserable as humanly possible!'

He drops his hand from my face abruptly. 'And why shouldn't you be miserable?' he asks viciously. 'Why shouldn't you be as _miserable_ as I am?'

'Don't you dare…' I stumble over my words. 'Don't you _dare_ compare my feelings to yours! What have _you_ lost, Lucius? Your beliefs, your ideals – what the hell do _they_ matter?'

And now he looks angry, so angry, but I don't stop speaking. I'm past caring.

'Whereas I… I have lost everyone I ever loved, everyone I ever cared for,' I whisper, tears trickling down my cheeks again, there for his enjoyment. 'My parents are dead, I'll never see any of my friends ever again, and Ron… Ron…'

I choke on my own misery then, letting my head fall forwards so I don't have to look at him anymore.

'You've got what you wanted now, haven't you? Now you really have got me all to yourself. You don't have to worry about Ron anymore. He hates me. He probably hates me more than anything else in the world.'

He sighs, and then he hooks his fingers under my chin again, making me look at him once more.

'He won't tell anyone what he has seen,' he says, 'he cares too much for you to do so, you know that.'

'I don't _care_ whether he tells anyone or not!' I shout. 'If anything his willingness to help me makes what I've done even worse! He's the best, most decent person I know, and I've hurt him in the worst way humanly possible!'

He takes a shallow breath. 'What does it matter what he thinks of you?' he asks.

'It _matters_!' I hiss. 'It matters more than anything in the world, can't you see? Why do you even need to _ask_ that question?'

'Last night, you asked me why it matters what Bellatrix thinks of me,' he says, his voice a tiny thread. 'Why are you entitled to be suspicious when I am not?'

I shake my head. 'You just don't _get_ it, do you? You never loved Bellatrix. You've never loved _anybody_. But I _loved _Ron, can't you see? I still do!'

A muscle goes in his cheek. 'You fool,' he murmurs. 'How can you still, after _everything _that's happened, rely on the affection of others?'

I pause, biting back my automatic reply.

Perhaps… perhaps he's right, after all. Perhaps love… perhaps it's really just meaningless. All it seems to do is bring pain and misery on anyone it touches.

But then I think of Ron.

'Because love is the best thing in the world,' I say, looking Lucius in the eye. 'It might be absolutely _horrible_ at times, but it's also wonderful, so wonderful that nothing can compare to it. To be able to care that much for someone, to be able to feel that way about another human being – it's like nothing else on earth!'

He looks at me, frowning.

I shake my head. 'I pity you.'

Anger starts to creep onto his face. 'And what, exactly, makes-'

'_You're_ the one in prison,' I interrupt. 'None of your pure-blood supremacy theories were ever true. They were just lies, fed to you by past generations ruled by hatred and fear. But you can't set yourself free by admitting you were wrong – to do so would be to admit that you've been living a lie all these years.'

He looks furious. No, _furious_ is too mild a word. He looks as if right now he'd like nothing more than to dash my brains out against the wall.

'And so you're trapped,' I go on. 'Imprisoned, just like me. But at least _I_ haven't got any option but to stay here. _You_ – you could walk away from _your_ prison, but you won't allow yourself to. You have condemned yourself with your own stupid-.'

His hand rises in temper and I flinch, pulling my head back to prepare for the strike-

But he checks it, and he lowers his hand again.

'Don't provoke me, Mudblood,' he says, his lips barely moving. 'I mean it. I will not allow you to sit here and preach to me about things you could never even begin to comprehend-'

'But I do _comprehend _it,' I say quietly. 'I know _exactly_ what's going on in that twisted mind of yours. And I know what the solution is, too. I could tell you how to solve all your problems.'

I pause for strength.

'You could set me free.'

And his reaction is what I expect. An expression of incredulous fury. 'What?'

I take a deep breath. I have nothing to lose, and everything to gain, so I've _got_ to say it to him.

'You could let me go, and set yourself free at the same time. You could shed yourself of all the years of hatred and prejudice by doing the very best thing you could do for me, a _Mudblood_ – you could give me my life back.'

But if I was expecting him to shout and rant and hit me over and over again then I was wrong, because all he does, in the end, is breathe a small, mirthless laugh.

'No, I don't think so,' he says.

I bite my lip. I can't lose this. 'But-'

'No,' he repeats, 'I don't _think _so. Because even if I _were_ foolish enough to set you free, I know that you wouldn't go.'

He laughs at the expression on my face.

'You see, Mudblood, you're not the only one here who can make observations. And I have been watching you; all the time, watching you. Figuring you out, getting to know you, gradually, and now I never have to wonder at your motives or your behavior or your emotions anymore.'

'I _could_ set you free,' he goes on. 'But I know that you wouldn't want to leave if I did. I know that if I _were_ to offer you the chance to leave, the best part of you would resent being parted from me.'

He smirks, and his hand laces into my hair, drawing my face closer to his.

'You wouldn't ever _want_ to leave me,' he whispers. 'And _that's_ why I'm not going to set you free. I'm going to be merciful, for once.'

He presses his lips to mine. I struggle against him, but his hand winds around my waist and pulls me closer, and I start to make noises of protest, trying to pull away from him but his kiss hardens, deepens, bruising me, cutting me, hurting me, always always _hurting_ me…

I break away from him, and I slap him hard across the face.

I can taste blood on my lips.

'Oh, so you want to fight?' he murmurs, with a familiar look in his eye.

'It's over, Lucius,' I say furiously. 'Finished. I won't do this to Ron anymore, I refuse. I'm not going to hurt him again.'

'You'd cast me off for _Weasley_?' he asks. 'You still genuinely believe that he has more to offer you than I do?'

'Oh, _please!_ What the _hell_ have you got to offer me? Ron _loves _me. He could make me happier than I've ever dreamed of being. _You_ can't offer me that!'

The laughter dies from his face. 'No, perhaps I can't.' His hand reaches down and his fingers entwine across my wrist. Too tight. 'But what _I_ have to offer goes much further than that.'

He moves his face closer, and I feel myself leaning backwards.

'How well does Weasley know you?' he asks.

'We've been best friends for seven years! Alright, we might fight sometimes, but he's always been there for me. He knows me better than anyone-'

'I beg to differ,' he drawls with infuriating superiority. 'You know full well that I know you better than _he_ ever has done, despite having known you for a much shorter time. I have seen you at your weakest point. I have seen you bleeding and broken, sobbing for mercy. I have seen,' he drops his gaze, running it over me slowly, 'every last part of you. No-one could ever be as intimate with you as I am every moment of every day.'

He kisses me again, and my mouth falls open almost involuntarily as his arm winds around my waist, pulling me closer.

I pound my fists against his chest and his arms. 'Leave me _alone_!' I sob. 'Please, I'm begging you, just leave me alone! I can't… I can't take it anymore…'

I fall forwards and my forehead lands on his chest, my body weighed down with sheer exhaustion.

He hooks his fingers into my chin to lift my head up.

'What do you want, Mudblood?' he whispers. 'What do you want from me?'

'I want…' I struggle for words, but only because it's hard to speak while I'm sobbing so hard. 'I want you to kill me. If you had any mercy you'd… you'd k-kill me.'

Abruptly he pushes me back, and I cry out in shock as I fall to the floor.

'I have no _mercy_!' he hisses, as he looms over me. 'Thanks to you, I have absolutely nothing left! You have taken everything away from me, _everything_!'

His hand closes around my throat, and I know this is it. He's going to kill me, finally.

But his hand loosens as the fury on his face ebbs away.

His spare hand moves to the collar of his robes, slowly undoing them, one button at a time.

'Why should you be any different?' he murmurs. 'If I have nothing left, then I'm damned if I'm going to allow _you_ to hold on to anything.'

I close my eyes. What's the point in fighting him? He's going to win anyway, because I don't really _want_ to stop him anymore.

His hand slides up my thigh, under my robe and over my hip, grazing my protruding hipbone. The weight of him almost takes my breath away as he leans over me.

'If I can have nothing,' he whispers, 'then neither can you.'

I open my eyes. His fingers work at the buttons of my robe, undoing first one, then another-

'You will not have Weasley.' My robe falls open slowly as he speaks. 'I shall make sure of it.'

My rage and anger at him, at myself, claw up in my chest and I lash out at him, making to grab his arm.

'Just go _away_!' I shout. 'What you're offering me is _nothing_, don't you see? Ron loves me! He _loves _me, Lucius. And that is worth _everything_ to me.'

And in two seconds he's got me again, his fingers biting into my wrists. 'Don't make me laugh, Mudblood. It doesn't matter if Weasley_ loves_ you. You are _mine_. You always will be.'

My spread, claw-like fingers relax with sheer hopelessness.

I'm tired of this charade.

His eyes are huge black pools as he pushes me onto the floor again.

'You know this,' he whispers, lacing his hand over my cheek and running his thumb over my lips. 'Why do you _still_ try to fight me?'

'I don't_ belong_ to you-'

'No?'

His hand moves down, trailing over my stomach, but I lock my knees together and I raise my fists again, beating at his chest.

'Do you really think that after what I've done to Ron today that I'm just going to betray him again? I love him. I _do_! Stop _smirking_, damn you! I won't hurt him anymore, I just _won't_!'

But he grips at both my hands, pinning them to the floor either side of me.

'_Love_?' he sneers. 'You don't love him. And even if you did, it would make no difference to anything. You _need_ me. And only me.'

I gulp, feeling hopeless tears roll out of my eyes. He's right. He's always been right about… about _that_. It's not Ron I think of when I'm left alone in the darkness of the room.

I hate Lucius for what he's done for me.

Even as his fingers move between my legs, I hate him. Even as he touches me, his fingers moving slowly and then faster I can feel the hate along with the familiar electricity burning up inside of me, and I want more than anything to push him away from me, but I can't, I know that I can't. I know as instinctively as I know not to put my hand into a flame.

Good god, what's he done to me?

And he's looking into my eyes as his fingers move, watching me as my breathing quickens, his eyes boring into my own.

I can't. I can't let him look into my eyes and know all my secrets, not this time. He can't know what I'm thinking. Because if he knew what I'm feeling right now, he'd leave me forever, I know it.

I can never tell him about it. Never. He'd never understand.

So I close my eyes.

I wish I wasn't breathing so quickly. I wish that my whole body wasn't screaming with need as he pinches and pulls, and when he crawls down over my body, pushing my legs apart and burying his mouth between them I wish to god I could hate it as much as I hate myself…

But I can't.

I claw at my face, trying to make myself hurt, to punish myself for letting him make me feel like this.

But the hot itch is building up between my legs, and, and… god…

All I can hope for is that he'll push me over the edge into oblivion and grant me merciful emptiness…

But then he bites down, hard.

I squeal in protest but he's already moving back up my body and I almost try to push him away again but he catches my lips in the lightest of kisses, holding me still for one quiet moment.

He breaks his lips away from mine. I can feel his breath, damp on my lips.

'I won't give you up to him,' he whispers.

His hand hooks under my knee, and he spreads my legs wide, so wide the insides of my thighs burn.

Mutely, I let him do what he wishes.

'You're mine forever, Mudblood.'

He pushes into me as he bites down onto my neck, his teeth ravaging my skin, but I cling onto him, because I can fight the need all I want, but I know that I'll never win. I couldn't fight against my own feelings any more than I could swim against a raging tide.

But that doesn't stop me sobbing.

But he just kisses my tears, licks them off my cheeks as he moves inside of me. As if by taking my tears of lost innocence he could somehow redeem himself.

If only things could be that simple.

There are some things that are just irredeemable.


	35. Nightmares

'ESTRAGON: (restored to the horror of his situation.) _I was asleep!_ (Despairingly.) _Why will you never let me sleep?  
_VLADIMIR:_ I felt lonely.  
_ESTRAGON:_ I had a dream.  
_VLADIMIR:_ Don't tell me!  
_ESTRAGON:_ I dreamt that-  
_VLADIMIR:_ DON'T TELL ME!  
_ESTRAGON: (Gesture towards the universe.) _This one is enough for you?_ (Silence.) _It's not nice of you, Didi. Who am I to tell my private nightmares to if I can't tell them to you?  
_VLADIMIR:_ Let them remain private. You know I can't bear that.' -_ Samuel Beckett_, Waiting For Godot_

_You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence._

* * *

According to science, outside of the boundaries of the known universe there is no concept of time.

That's how I feel these days. Trapped outside the known universe. Without time.

No day or night. No hours, minutes, seconds.

The strange, elusive fourth-dimension of time is now a stranger to me.

I don't know how long I've been trapped here. I don't know how long it's been since I last saw the sky.

All I know is structure. I wake up. I do my chores. I eat, I wash, and then Lucius will come for me, and then I'll sleep.

And then I'll wake up, and the whole routine will start all over again.

And so, because of this lack of the concept of time, I don't know how long it's been since I last saw Ron. Since I broke his heart in two, and ruined anything there could have ever been between us.

I haven't seen him since then. We never, ever do our chores together these days.

I'm worried about him. I'm always worried about him, but no-one will ever tell me anything about what's happening to him, or how he is.

The only person I dare to ask is Lucius, and he won't tell me anything. Still, after everything, I think he feels threatened by Ron. Not because he sees Ron as a rival in… in _that_ sense. No, I think it's because he knows that Ron could offer me something Lucius never, ever could. He could offer me love.

Or he _could_ have offered me love, I should say.

Lucius' arm curves tighter around me, our slippery, sweating skin sticking together as he pulls me closer to him.

He always lets me sleep in his bed, these days. He's just very careful to sneak me back out of his room before daylight…

Or what I presume is daylight, in the outside world.

In the _real_ world.

I think he's asleep. His breathing is regular. Soft, steady…

Lucky him. It must be so easy to sleep well, if you have no conscience.

I sigh, pressing my forehead into his bare chest, and I shift closer towards him, the bed-sheet tangling amongst my legs.

…_and I see a girl in the dark. A beautiful, sweet-looking girl, all alone in the dark… there's a serpent there, too. A black and green python as wide as a tree trunk, and it slithers and snakes towards her silently on its belly… but she smiles at the snake blithely, invitingly, and beckons it towards her, and I try to call out a warning but she can't hear me…and the horrible thing approaches her, smiling back, but snakes don't smile, do they?…This one does… and she smiles at it still, and the snake's mouth opens, and he leaps and all she can do is yield, young, innocent and beautiful…but she smiles. Smiles even as she's devoured whole…_

I start awake, jolting out of my sleep… was I even really asleep to begin with?

I pull in huge breaths to slow down my frantically slamming heart.

I haven't had a normal dream for ages. The word _dream _sounds pleasant… it reminds you of clouds and nightingales and stars and wanting to stay asleep because you were enjoying that strange, carefree world you were visiting in your sleep.

I don't have dreams anymore. Nightmares are all I have now.

Lucius' arm winds tighter around my waist as he sighs in his sleep.

* * *

I sweep the brush along the dining room floor in long, slow, methodical movements.

I don't know why they bother to get me to do this anymore. This house is almost spotless now, thanks to the hours of work Ron and I have done on it.

But then, I suppose they want to give us something to do so that we don't go insane with boredom. They need us fit and healthy, don't they?

At least I hope they do.

I don't know what they get Ron to do these days. He never does his chores with me anymore. And I know exactly who is to blame for that.

I flick my gaze up to look at Lucius. He's sitting at the table with Draco and Avery. The three of them are pouring over what look like maps, talking about something they have to do for Voldemort tonight. Something he's ordered them to organize.

I don't really know what it is they're planning, because I'm trying not to listen to what they're saying. I'm letting my own cowardice stop up my ears. I don't want to know what Lucius does in his master's name. It'll only make everything so much more difficult.

He looks so calm, so composed as he talks with his colleague and his son. He's ignoring me, which bothers me more than it really should. After all, he's got to keep appearances up in front of Draco and Avery.

But still… I hate him for it. I hate how he can just ignore me. Just switch off like a light bulb, with no difficulty at all.

How can he just pretend that he feels nothing for me? How can he _still_ insist that he doesn't really care for me, after how he acted towards Ron when we last saw him?

I want to kill him for what he did. I want to kill him for how he tore Ron to shreds, simply for the crime of being someone I care for.

Lucius' gaze flicks up, and for a second our eyes lock.

His expression doesn't alter, not even for a second. It's still calm, still composed as his eyes rest on me, unnoticed by anyone else.

I lower my gaze hurriedly, watching the brush sweep across the floor. I can't give anyone a reason to suspect a thing. We're on thin enough ice as it is, and Ron already knows…

God, how long can this really go on for?

'If we advance from the top of the village, then they won't be able to see us until it's too late,' Lucius drawls. Not to me, but to Avery. 'They've got anti-apparation jinxes on the house, apparently, so we'll have to enter it from the outside, but that was only to be expected.'

He's so calm as he talks about the doubtless horrible task he has to carry out. So utterly careless, because it doesn't matter to him, not at all. It's just like a day at the office for him.

'How many of them are there?' Avery asks.

'Four, including their two children,' Lucius replies casually. 'He's a talented wizard; I've seen him fight before, and I have to admit, I was impressed. But between us I think we could easily manage him without much of a struggle.'

I watch the strands of the brush run along the cracks in the stone, sweeping away the non-existent dirt. I won't concentrate on what they're saying. I don't want to know what horrible things he does in Voldemort's name.

But just ignoring it won't make it go away. I only wish that it could.

'What about his wife?' Avery asks again. It seems that Lucius is in charge of this little expedition they're planning. 'Will she cause us any problems?'

'I doubt it,' Lucius drawls. 'She's just a Mudblood.'

I pause for a second, before I start sweeping again, slower than I was before.

_Concentrate. Look at the floor. Don't look at him, and don't listen…_

It's hard _not_ to listen, especially to what Avery says next.

'And the children?' he says. 'Are they old enough to fight?'

My blood runs cold. _Children?_

'No,' Lucius replies. 'From what I've gathered, they're not even at Hogwarts yet.'

Sickness starts to tingle in my stomach.

'And they're to go the same way as their parents, are they?'

'The Dark Lord has said that there are to be no survivors,' Lucius says in answer Avery's question, quite unconcerned.

I flick my gaze up, my gut churning like a washing machine. I can't help it. I need to know… how can he possibly feel as careless as he sounds?

But he just sits there, looking completely calm and composed as per bloody usual, and he doesn't care that he's going to murder innocent children, of course he doesn't.

Oh god, what kind of monster is he?

'So…' Draco speaks up. He looks pale. Even paler than usual, I mean, which is saying something. 'So the kids… the children, I mean, we've got to…'

Lucius just looks at him, and Draco seems to whither under his father's imperious gaze. His mouth shuts like a trap, and he goes slightly pink.

I look desperately at Lucius, but he just rolls his eyes at Avery, who smirks, and they don't care, none of them care, and I knew he was a monster of course I did, but he can't… oh, he just _can't_-

'You can't do this!' The words burst raw and ragged from my mouth before I even have time to think about them.

All of them raise their heads to look at me, all wearing the same look of incredulity that I dare to speak up at all.

I squirm under their gaze, shifting my weight from one foot to the other, but I don't lower my eyes.

I look at Lucius, speaking more to him than anyone else. I know that _he_, at least, must have _some_ kind of human feelings in him – I know, because of how he holds me at night, so close that I think sometimes he'd sell his soul just to keep me close to him.

But his eyes are narrowed. A warning. A cold, clear warning to just shut up and leave things be, but… but how _can_ I?

'Is there something wrong, Miss Granger?' Avery asks, a cold little smirk on his lips.

Lucius is glaring at me, telling me as clearly as if he were shouting at me to just shut up and leave it, but I can't leave _this_, I just can't.

I take a deep breath.

'You can't… you can't just kill _children_!' I say, my voice stretched to almost a whisper with desperation.

That chilly smile doesn't leave Avery's lips. But Draco's gaze shifts to the floor. He looks miserable and abashed – like a little boy whose mother has caught him doing something he knows to be wrong.

And Lucius… Lucius looks very much like he'd like to start shouting at me. I know that he would do if we were alone.

But he can't. He can't give them any reason to suspect…

'Oh, believe me, we can do exactly as we like,' Avery drawls. 'It's no difficult task, after all-'

'But they're _children_!' My words are loud and hysterical.

'They're only half-bloods,' Avery retorts coldly.

I open my mouth and I close it again. I shift my gaze desperately over to Lucius, _willing_ him to care. _Willing_ him to hate himself for this, because surely he can see now that a half-blood and a pure-blood and a Mudblood are all one and the same, when it really matters…

But no, of course he doesn't think that. His eyes are as cold as ever.

Damn him.

'Go back to your work, Mudblood,' he mutters, before lowering his head over the map he's studying once again, shutting me out like he always does when we're not alone.

I press my lips together and I look at the floor. I can feel tears of rage and sheer frustration boiling up in my eyes, because it's awful, just so awful, but there's nothing I can do to stop it, nothing I can do to change his mind, because he's so far gone that nothing will ever be able to change him.

And those children… oh god, those poor children. It's just so… so _horrible_!

_He's probably done worse than this before. You just chose to live in ignorance, remember? You chose to close your eyes to what he is._

But… but I…

'You don't seem too happy at the prospect of this little trip, Draco,' Avery drawls.

I can hear Draco's gulp even from here. I roll my gaze up for a second to see that his face is so pale he's positively _green_.

'N-no,' he stammers. 'No, I'm fine. Really.'

But he doesn't look fine. If anything, he looks ready to vomit.

It seems the idea of murdering children doesn't sit too well with him, either.

If neither Lucius nor Avery will listen, then perhaps Draco will.

'You don't have to do this, Draco,' I say rapidly, before anyone can stop me. 'It's not right; you know that it isn't-'

I feel a whip-like streak burn across my face. I gasp, clutching at my cheek as tears sting my eyes.

Lucius is pointing his wand at me, his eyes still narrowed. And that look tells me everything I need to know.

_I'm hurting you for your own good. You wouldn't heed a visual warning, so heed a physical one._

But, of course, that's not what he says. That's what I know he'd _like _to say.

'I'm not going to tell you again, Mudblood,' he mutters. 'Go back to your work, and do not meddle in what does not concern you. Do you really think you have the power to change our minds about orders given by the Dark Lord himself?'

I press my lips together, and I look at the floor as I force myself to carry on working. I must be stupid, so stupid. Stupid to think that he can change, or that I can change him.

Oh, those poor children…

But what can I _do_?

I must be able to do _something_!

_Like_ _what_, _exactly?_

'And if you are so averse to the task, Draco, then you can stay here this evening,' Lucius says carelessly. 'I am sure that you shall not be missed.'

There's a long pause, and when Draco speaks, I can hear the resentment that laces through his words, though he doesn't appeal against Lucius' proposition.

'Thank you, father.'

I pause for a second, before I go on sweeping, furiously scraping the brush over the stone.

'You'll have to grow a backbone one day, you do know that?' Lucius says, his voice almost artistically disdainful.

Another long pause, and when the reply comes it is in the most sullen of voices.

'Yes, Father.'

And there it is again. That stab of pity I've felt for Draco before now. I don't know _why_, and I wish I couldn't feel it; it's just… he's always trying to please Lucius, and he can never quite manage it.

Ironically, I think that if Draco would just stand up for himself in some way, then Lucius might finally respect him. After all, didn't he start to respect _me_ for that exact reason? What was it he said, so long ago? _'I might almost have respect for you…'_

And it was because I stood up to him. He's so used to people doing as he says; it was probably refreshing for him to finally have a fight on his hands.

Avery utters a high, musical laugh. It's like nails running down a black-board.

'Never mind, Lucius,' he drawls. 'Perhaps we could get someone else to help us. Maybe the Weasleys wouldn't mind lending a hand this evening, if they're not too busy.'

I freeze where I am, ice clogging up my veins.

No._ No_.

My head snaps up, and I see Lucius looking steadfastly at the map in front of him, not looking at Avery, but I can see the firmness in his jaw. He's thinking quickly, I can tell, and I know why. He might hate the Weasleys with a passion, but surely he hasn't forgotten that he owes Ron for keeping our secret for us…

Right?

'I think that might be pushing things a little too far,' he mutters, his voice admirably nonchalant. 'After all, we don't want to drive them into rebellion, do we? Not when they have proved themselves so useful to our cause.'

Avery smirks, giving Lucius a sly, sideways look.

'The Dark Lord tells me they might have been driven into rebellion already.'

Breathing suddenly seems very difficult for me.

The Weasleys wouldn't… I can't believe it. They wouldn't risk Ron's life, they just _wouldn't_!

Avery must be lying. He must be.

But what reason would he have to lie?

That doesn't matter. All I know that they wouldn't-

'What do you mean by that?' Lucius mutters, his voice very still.

Avery shrugs, inspecting his fingernails with apparent nonchalance.

But there's something… there's something not right about this. Avery doesn't seem like the sort of person to say something if it doesn't have a specific purpose. Idle conversation doesn't seem like something he'd go in for.

'Apparently, what I tried to get the boy to do to his little sister didn't sit too well with them,' he drawls. 'Since then, they've been somewhat… reluctant to follow orders.'

Oh god, oh _god_. I… I don't know what to think.

I hear Lucius suck in his breath, but when he speaks he doesn't look up from his map.

'I told you that plan was a bad idea,' he mutters.

Avery breaths a small laugh.

'Well, their use to the Dark Lord was wearing thin, anyway,' he says, his voice completely and perfectly trouble-free. 'He was saying just the other day that perhaps the boy might be put to better use elsewhere.'

I feel my brow knot into a frown. What is he _talking_ about?

But Lucius raises his head slowly, looking as if he knows all too well what Avery's talking about, and he doesn't like it one little bit.

Draco, however, looks just as confused as I feel.

Avery's thin lips are pulled back into the tiniest of cold smiles.

'He can't think to use _him_?' Lucius drawls, but he voices it as a question. 'If Potter wouldn't come to the rescue of the Mudblood, then he certainly won't come for the Weasley brat.'

Ice-cold fear starts to creep through my nerves as understanding dawns on me slowly.

Lucius looks as if understanding dawned on him way before it did on me, however. His face is set rigid, the way it always does when he's trying to hide his emotions.

'Well, to be honest, Lucius, I don't think he knows what to do,' Avery drawls, and I have to wonder just how much of this conversation he already had planned. There's a kind of… forced casualness to his words. 'His plan to use the Mudblood to lure Potter to him has failed twice now. It seems that he cares less for the girl than the Dark Lord had anticipated.'

I clench the broom hard, feeling pain dig into my heart like a knife. Such pain, because I can't tell myself that's not true, not anymore. Twice Harry has let me down. I know that he can't put me above the whole of the Wizarding World, but… it still hurts.

'He's beginning to wonder whether the Weasley boy might be more effective in luring Potter to him,' Avery goes on. 'We have heard from several sources that he was closer to Weasley than he was to the Mudblood anyway.'

'That's true,' Draco chips in. 'You never saw one of them without the other. It was pathetic, really.'

And my stomach clenches again. I know it's true that Harry was closer to Ron, I've always known it, but… but it doesn't stop it _hurting_.

'Indeed. And so,' Avery drawls, stretching his arms out in front of him with apparent nonchalance, 'it may not be long before you will finally be able to dispose of her, Lucius. After all, if she is of no more use to us then she can only be a burden to you. I daresay you'll be pleased to be rid of her.'

I swallow down hard. Avery… he _knows_! Or he suspects, at least. He must do…

And Lucius… oh god, he's going to have to kill me. He'll have no choice but to do so. It'll be his life or mine.

His face is white. He's looking at the map, but not seeing it, I know. His gaze is still and dark. His knuckles are white as his fingers dig into the desk.

Both Avery and Draco are watching him, but Draco's looking more intently, somehow. He's frowning deeply at his father, looking as if his father's reaction doesn't make any sense to him.

He shifts his eyes to me for a second, his gaze accusatory and deeply suspicious, before he turns to look at his father once again. Tentatively he reaches out, placing his hand on Lucius' arm.

'Father?'

Lucius stands up suddenly, his chair screeching along the floor.

I suck in my breath, shaking where I stand.

He brings his hand to his eyes for the briefest of moments, collecting himself, before he removes it once more, and his face is calm and still again. Frozen.

'Please excuse me for a moment,' he mutters, his lips barely moving. 'I must make final arrangements for this evening.'

Without waiting for an answer, he turns and strides out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him.

And then there is silence.

Shaking, I turn my gaze to Draco and Avery. Nothing makes sense. I feel numb, and lost…

It's only when realisation sinks into me that I start to shake.

Draco's looking at me with a face that's filled with suspicion and hate. He looks like he would like to watch me suffer slowly and indescribably for what I've done. He knew that his father cared about me, of course he did, but now he's been reminded of it once again, and he can't stand it, I know that he can't.

But Avery just smiles coldly at me. It's a horrible smile. Conspiratory. As if me and him are in on a secret, in some way.

Which I suppose, in some way, we almost are.

I shiver. He _knows_…

Oh _god_.

'Don't you have work to be doing, Mudblood?' he asks coldly.

And because I have no choice, I lower my head, sweeping the brush over the floor quickly, trying to stop the whirr of confused thoughts that swirl about in my head.

* * *

I sit on my bed, pulling my knees up to my chin, resting my head on them, looking out into my room without really seeing it.

He won't be here till late this evening. I know that he won't. He's always late, when he's got some duty to do for Voldemort.

And when he _does_ come, his hands will be stained with the blood of children.

He must have gone by now. Gone to do his _job._ To serve his oh-so-important ideals with murder and torture.

It makes me feel sick even to think about it. Like I've had candy-floss, a milkshake, a hamburger and a hot dog and gone on the Waltzers at the fun-fair.

How could he? How _could_ he?

_He's a monster. You know that. You've always known that._

And Avery… God, I don't know what to think about him.

He knows. Either that or he suspects… and Lucius as good as confirmed it for him today…

Well, no, he didn't confirm that he's actually _sleeping_ with me. All he might have confirmed is that he _cares_ for me, and Voldemort has already realised that, hasn't he? He said so, when he asked me to have dinner with him, all that time ago.

I need Lucius to come back. I need to talk to him about this, to try and work out what were going to do about Avery. I wish he'd come home…

But he'll have children's blood on his hands…

The door swings open.

I lift my head, my brow curling up a frown. He's back early.

His orders must have been easy to carry out, then, if he's finished so quickly.

I'm going to kill him for what he's done tonight. I'm going to tell him that he can go to hell if he thinks that I'm going to let him touch me after what he's done…

But it's not him that enters my room.

It's his son.

My heart stops and kick-starts itself again.

He steps into my bedroom, smartly shutting the door and locking it behind him.

And then he raises his head to look at me.

I just stare at him blankly for a few moments, frozen with bewilderment.

His eyes are narrowed, but his face is rock-hard. Just like his father's when he's resolved to do something.

Oh god, what does he _want?_

Hastily, I scramble off my bed, standing up to face him, because I don't know why he's here, and he doesn't terrify me like his father does, but that doesn't mean he doesn't scare me.

No. His _suspicions _scare me. I am not going to be afraid of Draco Malfoy.

I catch a fold of my gown in between my fingers, hoping to god that he can't see my hand as my fingernails almost tear through the material with terror.

_No._ I'm not terrified of _Draco_. I refuse to be scared of a boy who's nothing more than a school bully who's got in way over his head.

I'm terrified of what he might _discover_, that's all.

'What…' Words don't come easily. They stick and clog in my throat. 'What are you doing here?'

His mouth twists. Once that movement would have made him look petulant, but he's changed so much now. Now the expression he's wearing is a strange reminder of the bitter smile I so often see on Lucius' face.

'I think the question is; what are _you _doing here? Or,' – his mouth twists down unpleasantly – 'what are you _still _doing here, should I say?'

His wand is clenched in his hand down by his side. His knuckles are white.

I've got to stop shaking. I've got to remain calm.

His lip is curled up with intense dislike.

'Why, when you should have been out of the picture ages ago, are you still hanging around here?' he asks, his voice little more than a whisper.

I gulp as he steps closer to me. Not too close, but just… closer.

Close enough.

His eyes are piercing, I notice irrationally. Almost as piercing as his father's. He's looking at me intensely, and he really does look so much like Lucius these days. You could never mistake his parentage.

Only the look he's giving me is different from the ones I receive from his father. It's just as intense, but in a different way altogether.

'You simply won't… disappear,' he mutters darkly. 'And you were supposed to. Several times I have been certain that you were about to leave our lives forever; to leave us all in peace. On the night we all went to the Weasleys' house, and the night after the dinner party. But every time…'

His hand reaches into the pocket of his robes, and I hear a tiny clinking noise. The clink of glass.

I start to shake. Oh no, oh _no_, it can't be, it just can't…

He can't… he can't have _that _with him, he just can't! I won't stand a chance.

Oh god, please, help me!

_Get him talking. For god's sake, get him talking._

'I don't know why-' I start, but he cuts across me.

'Oh, but _I_ know why,' he says shortly, bluntly. 'It's because my father was always there to save you. To look after you because you were too weak to do it yourself.' He pauses, his features creasing in disgust. 'To make sure that you couldn't ever leave his side, not even for a moment.'

Oh sweet Jesus, this is awful. I've got to get out of this, I've _got_ to!

I gulp, and I improvise. 'He's just doing his duty, that's all. Voldemort needs me alive-'

'No, he doesn't,' Draco snaps, losing his temper for a second. 'You know that he doesn't. You heard Avery say so just this morning. Don't treat me as if I'm stupid. You've been trying that for seven years now, you-'

He pauses, and collects himself, taking a deep breath…

But _I_ can't breathe for fear.

His eyes narrow as he looks at me, as if he's considering something, something that disgusts and revolts him.

'Tell me something, Granger,' he mutters venomously, viciously. 'We've known each other for… what, seven years now? I believe you can be honest with me.'

A pause.

My heart isn't beating. I swear, it's just stopped beating.

This is torture. Pure mental torture.

'So tell me…' He swallows sharply, before he forces himself to continue. 'Have you always wanted to fuck my father?'

It's like a physical blow. I feel winded, and I sway where I stand, feeling sick, and dizzy.

_Oh god, make this stop, please…_

But… no. I can't ask _Him_ for help. I don't believe in Him anymore, why can't I ever remember that?

I guess some things are hard to let go.

Draco's face is set into creases of disgust, as if the very question makes him want to vomit.

I open my mouth, but no words will come. What could I possibly say in answer to that question, even if nothing _was_ going on between me and Lucius?

Besides… I didn't… I never wanted any of this. I never, ever used to think of Lucius in… in _that _way. I mean, he was Draco's father, for crying out loud! Not exactly what you'd call my type, either.

'You see, I've had time to think about this,' he drawls when I don't answer, 'and I've thought about all the times you met him before you arrived here. At Flourish and Blotts when we were twelve, and that time at the Ministry. And as I thought, I couldn't help remembering… when we were fourteen, we were in the same Box at the Quidditch world cup, weren't we?'

I swallow, my throat bone dry, and I nod. There's no point in denying _that_, is there? I know that's true as well as he does.

He nods back, and he goes on.

'You… you stared at him,' he almost-whispers. 'I noticed that at the time. I thought it was a bit strange. But he stared back at you, didn't he?'

My breathing is shallow. I don't know how I can deny this. It's true, we did stare at each-other, but… but it wasn't anything like _that._

Not on my part, at least, anyway, and I'm almost certain not on Lucius' part, either. After all, I was only fourteen, for god's sake! I was a child.

'And you…' He seems to struggle for a moment, as if he's having to swallow something that tastes truly disgusting. 'You turned red when he looked at you. I noticed, you see. I saw you.'

I can feel that same red writing its way across my face right now. The same blush of unwilling shame I felt when I saw Lucius Malfoy staring at me with disdain when I was just fourteen years old.

I hated it, because I knew that he thought I was nothing, even then, even when I was just another filthy little Mudblood to him. He thought I was nothing, not worthy to be shit on his shoe, and I knew it with that horrible look he gave me…

But that doesn't matter right now. What matters at this moment is dealing with Draco.

'It wasn't anything like that,' I say clearly, truthfully. 'I was just embarrassed because I knew he was judging my blood status, that's all. I swear to you, Draco, it wasn't to do with… with anything else.'

_Breathe. You have to breathe. It might be okay._

How could it _possibly_ be okay?

His eyes are still narrowed as he steps closer to me, and closer, close enough to reach out and touch me if he wanted to…

I'm going to cry, I know I am. I can't even breathe for fear, and I desperately need him to go away, but… but he looks ready to snap. This has been eating away at him like a cancer for ages now, and he can't let it go, I know that he can't.

'You see, I don't know whether to believe you or not,' he murmurs. He's trying to keep his voice calm, but he's failing miserably. 'You can swear and promise all you like, but how would I know if you were telling the truth?'

I suck in my breath, and I look over his shoulder, looking for an escape route. But the door's locked, and there's no way out, and Lucius isn't in the house… oh my god _oh my god_…

I look back at Draco; stare at him desperately with tears of pure fear starting in my eyes.

'Please, Draco,' I whisper.

His face remains still with hate. He is completely unmoved. Things have gone too far for him to feel unwillingly sorry for me anymore.

'If you've done nothing wrong, then you have nothing to fear,' he says, almost… _calmly_.

He pulls a small glass bottle out of the pocket of his robes.

I feel myself shatter into a million pieces. Stupid, stupid, I know, but I turn and try to run to god-only-knows where, but he's quick, too quick because he really was too close before, and I feel his hand close around my wrist and…

I struggle, I struggle so hard, but he's got me, and his arm's around my waist, holding me close to him, so hard I can't breathe. I hear the clink of the bottle, and I'm begging him, but all the 'please's' and the 'no's' won't throw him off course now. He's too far gone…

Fingers tangle themselves in my hair and pull my head back, and back, and as my mouth opens involuntarily to cry in pain I feel cold droplets on my tongue. One, two, three, four. Tasteless, cold drops, oh god, oh no, please, no, this can't be happening…

It _is _happening.

What am I going to _do?_

He releases my hair, releases _me_, and I fall forwards, choking, coughing out half my lungs. My knees bang painfully on the cold stone floor, and I cough and cough until tears stream down my cheeks and my nose runs, and I heave in deep breaths, oh god, help me, shit shit, fuck…

Perhaps… perhaps if I just keep coughing…

But I can feel the choking sensation dying away. My body is pulling itself together, and I try to keep coughing, to keep choking, but I'm forcing it now, and it hurts, the sheer effort of it _hurts_, rips my throat and chest apart.

'You see, I am my father's son, Mudblood,' he mutters, his voice shaking. 'And he might not think so, but I can be just as ruthless as he can when I want to be. When I _need_ to be.'

Oh god, I need to get this stuff out of me!

Without even thinking about it, I shove my fingers down my throat, pushing them back, and back, and I gag as they prod and poke the soft pulpy flesh of my throat, but I push them further, because I need to get this stuff out of me, now, now, right now…

But I feel a hand on my hair again, wrenching my head back, and another on my hand, pulling it out of my mouth, and I struggle, god knows how hard I struggle, but he's strong. He's grown up, over the years. I always forget that. He's been so much in his father's shadow that I forget that he's a fully-grown man now.

'_No_, Granger,' he hisses. I look up into his eyes to see them blazing with fury. 'I've waited too long for this, and now I want to know the truth. I can't not know any longer. It's gone too far.'

I've got tears of desperation in my eyes, and I'm whimpering.

'Please, Draco, please…' I stutter, but to no avail. His hand whips across my face in a slap. Like father, like son.

'Shut up and answer my questions!' he hisses. 'Tell me, has my father fucked you?'

I gulp, and I press my lips together, but I feel the truth bubbling up in my chest like a spring and it rises up and up like vomit, and it's like I'm going to be sick, but to be sick would be a mercy in comparison and before I can stop it the horrible truth bursts from my mouth.

'Yes.'

Silence. I close my eyes in agony. Sheer mental agony.

For a long moment we stand still, his hand gripping at my hair so hard I swear he's going to rip my hair out from the root.

Oh god!

Oh _god_, what have I done?

His hand loosens from my hair, finally, and I slide to the ground, landing on my front, sobbing silently.

I feel dumb. I can't process anything. I feel separate and lost and empty and numb…

I… I don't know… I couldn't stop it, I couldn't…

I open my mouth, trying to push forward some kind of denial, but it won't come. The words stick in my throat, choking me, gagging me, until I swallow them down again.

Oh my god! Ohgodohgodohgod!

'You…' he stutters, his voice barely a whisper. 'You… and _him_…'

Oh no. Oh, what have I done? Why couldn't I stop it, why why why?

Slowly, so slowly, I lift my head up.

He's not looking at me. He's looking at the floor.

His face contains a world of horror. He looks like a little boy again, but now he looks like one who's discovered that everything he ever believed in has been a lie. Father Christmas, the Easter Bunny, the Tooth Fairy, God…

All of it has gone. Left him alone in the dark.

But it's not just hopelessness I can see. It's rage, and hate. Hate for me, who made his father a liar, and hate for the liar that he has discovered his father to be.

'I hoped that…' He seems to be talking to himself, and not to me. 'But… and he…'

He heaves in a deep breath, still looking at the floor.

'My… my mother, she said he wouldn't…'

His mother. Narcissa? He's spoken to her about what he believes is going on?

No, not believes. _Knows. _Oh god.

He trails off and turns away from me so that I can't see his face, and I hope to god that's it, that this horrible, awful situation won't get any worse…

But how could it _possibly_ get any worse? Lucius and I – I've condemned us both to death. Oh Jesus Christ fuck, fuck…

'How many times?' he asks, oh-so-quietly, still without turning back to me.

And I try to stop it, I really do, but it's like acid burning up through my chest and it hurts, it hurts so badly to keep my mouth shut and before I'm even really aware of it my mouth has opened and I'm speaking.

'I don't know,' I whisper, and words keep on coming despite my best efforts to swallow them down. 'Lots of times. I haven't kept count.'

I curl up onto my side, lost in a sea of humiliation, weeping silently. Oh god, it's all over. Me and Lucius… I've killed us both. If Draco knows, then surely, _surely_ this is the end?

I hear a small rustle, and when he speaks he sounds closer than he was before.

I can't look at him again. Pure shame keeps my face hidden from his.

'Has this been going on since before I arrived?' His voice is still quivering, almost unbearably so.

'No,' I say, shaking my head without moving myself from the floor. I won't look at him, I won't.

There's a long silence, broken eventually by my scream of _pain_ as what feels like invisible acid splatters across my skin.

'Fucking well look at me, you filthy little Mudblood!' he hisses.

And because I have no choice, I roll my head up to face him. It feels like my body's made of lead. Even to breathe is a massive effort and strain.

His wand is pointed at me, and I realise that while his cheeks are flushed unpleasantly and his mouth twitches furiously with silent words, that I've never seen him look more like his aunt than at this moment.

This is the first time I've ever felt truly terrified of Draco Malfoy.

He takes a deep breath.

'So… so how long has it been going on, then?' he asks furiously. 'Were you fucking him that night of the dinner party? Is that why I found you outside his room?'

'No,' I murmur, the Veriteserum pushing the truth out of my mouth, no matter how much I try to stop it. 'No, nothing happened that night.'

'So when?' He raises his wand at me again, even though he must know that it's unnecessary. Under influence of Veriteserum, I'm already lost. 'When did it start?'

And God help me, I still try to keep quiet, even though it won't do me any good. He already knows all he really needs to know.

But surely I should try to stop things from getting any worse if I can?

But I just _can't_ keep quiet. The Veriteserum won't let me. Words pour from my mouth like a fountain.

The Ministry allows this horrible, violating potion to be used _legally_?

'The night you and Bellatrix slashed my wrists,' I whisper, feeling tears pour out of my eyes helplessly. 'After he rescued me from you both… it was just after that.'

His face contorts with absolute rage and disgust. Hate, hate, hate. Hate for the entire world and how it's turned its back on him.

He looks like he's bitten a lemon. The bitterness of the knowledge that he himself pushed his father into sleeping with a Mudblood… it looks like that bitterness is killing him slowly.

He turns, and starts to walk up and down, up and down, his pace feverish.

'You're… you're a Mudblood,' he says, his voice strained. 'A filthy little… all my life, he's told me… nothing but scum…'

I watch him in silence. I can't process it, I just can't. It doesn't make sense, nothing does. Fear, terror, horror have all ripped every ability to process information away from me.

All I know is that this is the end. I've ruined everything.

'I knew… I just _knew_ there was something going on,' he mutters, pacing up and down feverishly, his eyes darting about. 'But he promised… he _swore_ to me that it was nothing, and I thought…'

He pauses, and he brings his hands up to his face for a moment, pressing them to his eyes, before, he takes a deep breath and turns to face me again, his face harsh.

'What gives you the _right_, Granger?' he asks viciously. 'How _dare_ you? He's married to my mother!'

'I know!' I say desperately, feeling shame cover my body like slime. 'I know. I never forget it, Draco.'

He laughs joylessly, wildly.

'Oh, of course,' he crows sarcastically. 'It must be simply _awful_ for you, having to live with such guilt! You poor thing, you really do have my sympathy!'

He takes a few deep, furious breaths, before he suddenly raises his wand, and spits out a curse.

'_Crucio!_'

Invisible knives slice through my skin and my muscles and my bones and my blood has turned to _battery acid_ and my lungs are being _ripped_ out of my chest, and it HURTS like nothing else, and you can _never_ get used to it, never ever ever…

Screams rip through my throat even as the curse leaves me, and I'm left shaking and sobbing on the floor.

This is it. It's all over. Draco's discovered the very worst thing he could discover about his father, and now it'll only be a matter of time, surely, before he tells his aunt, or Avery, or perhaps even Voldemort himself…

The ice Lucius and I have been dancing on has cracked at last, and now there is nothing left for us to do but fall.

'You slut,' Draco whispers in a voice that shakes with hatred. 'You… evil little slut.'

The words hit me like a whiplash of shame.

I roll my head slowly up to look at him, my body still shaking with the aftershocks of the Cruciatus curse.

Draco Malfoy has always hated me. I've never had any reason to doubt that fact. Right from the moment we met, he hated me. He hated me for beating him in class, and his discovery of my blood status cemented that hatred forever.

But I've never seen such loathing in his eyes as I can see at this moment. He'd like to kill me, to tear me apart, to watch as I slowly bleed to death for everything I've done to him, to his father, to his family.

His eyes are blazing.

'You're not going to get away with this, Granger,' he mutters silently, before he pauses for a second, looking very pale and almost… afraid.

He collects himself, and he turns from me, walking towards the door.

'Wait!' I half-shout. I don't know why. What could I _possibly_ say or do to make this better, to make it all go away, to erase what just happened forever?

He turns to me with a look of pure, grade-A hatred. 'What for?' he asks, his voice hard and harsh. 'Are you going to try and get round me just like you got round my father, _are you_?' He's shouting, looking almost deranged with rage for a second.

I cringe involuntarily, and he sneers, running his eyes over me disdainfully.

'It won't work with me, Mudblood. I'm not weak like he is!'

Weak. To think I'd see the day when Draco Malfoy called his father weak…

_You caused it, Hermione. Does that make you proud?_

Perhaps it should, on some level. All through Hogwarts, it infuriated me how Draco couldn't see his father for what he really was…

But all I can feel is shame. I've destroyed all of his illusions. And to him, those illusions were the most beautiful thing in the world. They were like my illusions that the world could be changed for the better, that everyone had some good in them if you just looked hard enough.

Lucius destroyed my illusions, and now I've destroyed his son's.

I don't know what to say, or what to do, to make any of this better. I can't fight Draco, not without a wand, and nothing I say could make him pretend this never happened…

So what can I do?

He's watching me. Waiting for what I'm going to say. But his face is hard, and I know that he's not going to listen…

But I've got to try.

'He didn't want to, Draco,' I whisper, my face burning with humiliation. 'He hates himself for what he's doing, he really does. You've got to believe me.'

He must know I'm not lying. I can't, not after the Veriteserum.

His face arches for a second, a reaction to my words, but he quickly forces all emotion away from his face. Taking a leaf from Lucius' book, no doubt.

Even now, when he's just discovered that his father's the biggest kind of hypocrite, he still wants to be like him.

Well, he's succeeding in his life's ambition. He's slowly becoming more and more like his father every day. I can see it in the tightness of his jaw, and the arch of his eyebrows. He's finally on his way to becoming the man he's always wanted to be.

He must be hurting. More than I can ever understand. It must be the most painfully ironic thing he's ever experienced – to discover that his father, his idol, the man he's tried to emulate his whole life, has now, just as Draco is beginning to succeed in imitating him, been changed forever by one of the Mudbloods he so despises.

I take a deep breath.

'You might hate what he's done, Draco, but he's still your father,' I whisper desperately. 'If Voldemort finds out what he's done, he won't stand a chance.'

His eyes widen, and he looks like he wants to say something for a second.

He looks desperate. After all, how can he not let his father get away with this without condemning him to death?

He collects himself, and he draws his head back and spits on the floor by my feet.

And with one final look of absolute disgust and loathing, he turns on his heel and marches out of the door, slamming it shut behind him.

He doesn't forget to lock it this time.


	36. Sins of the Father

_'Can I see another's woe,  
And not be in sorrow too?  
Can I see another's grief,  
And not seek for kind relief?_

Can I see a falling tear,  
And not feel my sorrow's share?  
Can a father see his child  
Weep, nor be with sorrow filled?' - William Blake, _On Another's Sorrow_

* * *

I feel like I'm in a condemned man's cell - like I can see the hangman's noose outside of my window, and I know that this is my last night on earth.

And all I can do is wait. Wait to die, because I've gone beyond all hope of living.

The best I can hope for is a reprieve. A reprieve that will never come.

I huddle in on myself, pulling my knees up to my chin. I'm sitting on the ground, pressing my ear against the solid wood of the door, waiting for Lucius to come home, like a dog awaits the return of its master, because yes, that's how low I've sunk, thank you God.

What will he say, when he finds out what's happened?

What will he _do_?

And Draco… god, what can I even _begin_ to hope for from Draco?

Perhaps… if he still loves his father, then maybe…

But no, I mustn't hope for anything. Hope only leads to disappointment, that's something I've learned.

Besides, if Draco really _is _anything like his father, then to him a Blood Traitor is a Blood Traitor, family or not. And Blood Traitors need to be punished, don't they?

Footsteps click smartly down the corridor outside.

My heart and lugs pull themselves up to my mouth in terror, and I scramble up to my feet, stepping away from the door as it creaks open.

It's him. Thank god, it's him.

He looks completely calm as he shuts the door quietly behind him. So calm and collected that he can't possibly know what's happened.

He raises his eyebrows when he sees me.

'What on Earth's the matter with you?' he asks coldly, taking in my expression.

I open my mouth, and close it again stupidly. My breathing is shallow, and we're finished, we're completely _finished_, and he obviously doesn't know and it falls to me to tell him…

He rolls his eyes at the look on my face and sighs. 'If you're going to rant and rave at me for what I might have done this evening-'

'Lucius,' I gasp, hardly able to speak, 'Lucius, Draco he… he _knows!_'

He blanches, just for a moment, before he collects himself, and he shakes his head as a mirthless little smirk curls up his lips.

How can he… how can he be so _unconcerned_ about this, for god's sake?

'I don't have the patience to soothe your paranoia tonight, Mudblood,' he drawls. 'You thought my wife knew, and she didn't. You thought…'

He pauses for a moment, his expression giving nothing away, before he carries on. 'You thought Avery knew…'

He falters again, and I know why. Because he knows as well as I do that Avery _suspects_ if nothing else, and Avery's suspicions are possibly the most dangerous thing we have to worry about…

Well, no. The second most dangerous thing we have to worry about, now.

He shakes his head again in irritation. 'Your unreasonable fears are beginning to irritate me, quite frankly, and I have no interest in dealing with them any more-'

'This isn't just me being paranoid!' I grip hold of the front of his robes, utterly desperate. 'He's found out _everything_, Lucius. He made me tell him all about it. And I don't know what he's going to do, but he's going to do _something_! He told me that he wasn't going to let me get away with what I've done.'

His face drains of colour. He looks at me long and hard, almost uncomprehendingly, because he doesn't want to believe it, I know that he doesn't.

Slowly, so slowly, I let go of the front of his robes, breathing deeply, trying to collect myself.

'You're… you're telling me the truth?' he asks, his voice no more than a whisper.

I nod, tears of pure fear burning in my eyes.

He swallows sharply, his frown deepening. And for one of the few times since I met him, I can see fear in that deep, fathomless gaze of his.

He turns from me for a moment, running his hand over the back of his head, before he looks at me again.

'For god's sake, why couldn't you just keep your mouth _shut_?' he asks furiously.

'I _tried_!' I say urgently, the tears rolling freely down my cheeks. 'I swear to you, I tried. But he used Veriteserum on me; there was nothing I could do!'

He curses under his breath before he turns and slams his fist into the doorframe, letting out a yell of rage.

And then he's quiet again, leaning against the door, taking in deep breaths.

I can hardly hear him breathe over the sound of my own furious heartbeat.

He turns to face me once again, his face a pale mask of forced control. 'I didn't see him on my way in,' he murmurs, pulling the small, familiar silver key out of his robes, 'and Bellatrix didn't behave as I believe she would have done if he'd have told her.' He locks his gaze onto mine. 'I shall return shortly.'

'Where are you going?' I yelp.

'To find my son,' he replies simply, and with that the key glows red and he disappears into thin air.

I look at the empty space that he was occupying just two, three, four seconds ago, before I shake my head, trying to clear it as I pace up and down my room, wringing my hands.

_He'll look after you. He'll sort it out._

But how? How could he possibly sort _this _out?

_Don't you trust him?_

I…

I pause, lost in thought.

Once, I would have said no, absolutely not. That I would never, ever trust the man who killed my parents, the man who wore a mask to disguise his true self every minute of every day, the man who tore me down relentlessly time and time again…

But… I don't know why, but now I can't help but trust him. How can I not, when I know him so well, and he's become such a part of me?

_Then trust him._

He suddenly appears again, and one look at his grim expression tells me he has not been successful in finding his son.

'He's not in his room,' he says, his voice low and urgent. 'We'll have to go and look for him around the house.'

I hesitate. 'We?'

He looks at me, his eyes dark with something I can't fathom, something besides the fear and the anger. 'If Draco has told anyone what is going on, then both our lives will immediately be at risk,' he says. 'And I will not leave you to the mercy of anyone who might decide to come after you. At least if you are with me, I can defend you.'

He opens the door and stands back from it, allowing me to go before him. As he does so, he crouches down, just for a second, and pulls a small knife from his boot.

The last time I saw him pull a knife from his boot…

He stands up straight again. His expression is severe, and yet perfectly controlled.

'Come along.'

I take a deep breath to steady my nerves, and I step out of the room, into the dark corridor.

The door clicks shut behind me.

He nods at me, his lips a thin line. He looks… strange in this light. It casts odd, dark blue shadows over his face, and he looks… frightening. He always has done, of course, but in this light… I don't feel like I even know him in this light.

He turns and starts to walk down the corridor, very slowly. 'Follow me closely,' he whispers, without looking at me.

He doesn't bother telling me not to try and run away. He knows as well as I do that if I run I'll only waste time for the pair of us. I couldn't get away from here anyway, and the sooner we find Draco the more chance we have of making our way out of this alive.

We make our way through the house at a snail's pace. The stone walls flicker with the dark blue shadows cast by the flames of the torches that line the walls.

Out of the corner of my eye I can see those horrible shadows dancing. They make me jump out of my skin every time they shift and flicker.

More than anything, I want to take hold of his hand for comfort. But I just can't. I want to, even though he'd hate me for my weakness, but his hands are already full. A wand in one hand, a knife in the other…

Would he really use either of them against his own son?

We turn the corner, coming into another long corridor. It's empty, thank god, but still we make our way along slowly, so slowly, looking all around as we go.

Every hair on my arms and neck and back is standing upright with fear.

'Draco?' Lucius murmurs, his voice barely audible.

A long, eerie silence is the only answer we receive.

And so we move along, down corridor after corridor, up flights of steps and more corridors…

And always there is nothing; just deathly silence and dark, dancing shadows and freezing cold air.

'Draco?' Lucius' murmur creeps through the stillness.

No answer.

'What is he's not here?' I hiss, wringing my hands. 'What if he's already-'

'Quiet!' he whispers back furiously.

I thin my lips out and force my panic down. I was a Gryffindor at Hogwarts, and that might have meant nothing when it mattered, but that doesn't mean I shouldn't at least _try_ to live up to the house's reputation.

'I'm not angry with you, Draco,' Lucius murmurs to the darkness. 'Come out here, and we'll talk.'

The knife in his hand flashes blue as it catches the light.

And there is still no answer.

We climb another staircase, and another, and we move down more corridors, and more, and every call Lucius utters is met only with deafening silence.

Oh god, I can't… my nerves are stretched to breaking point, and I can feel them splintering with terror, and I'm cold and shaking, and the silence presses down on me, louder than a thousand screams-

Something moved. I saw it in the corner of my eye.

I stop where I am and I turn, looking at where I just saw… I _swear_ I saw…

But there's nothing. Just dancing, mocking shadows of blue.

'Draco?' I whisper.

'For god's sake keep quiet!' Lucius whispers, and I can hear the anger and the fear in his voice. 'If he's not going to answer _me_, then he certainly won't answer _you._'

With a long, agonising look at the… the _nothing_ that I just saw, I turn and I follow Lucius once again.

And we're coming to a door; a huge wooden door, and it looks strangely familiar, somehow, but I don't know how…

But when Lucius points his wand at it and it swings slowly open, I know why it looks so familiar.

It opens up onto a balcony; a balcony I remember as clear as day.

I feel Lucius tense beside me. I know that he remembers too.

'Draco?' he murmurs. His voice echoes around the cave that surrounds us. 'Are you out here?'

A long silence, in which we are answered only by bouncing, mocking echoes, and Lucius turns to leave the balcony, but then-

'I'm here, Father.'

Lucius sucks in his breath.

Cold fingers dig themselves into my heart.

Draco steps out, standing in the open doorway. A shadow of a boy, his face hidden in darkness.

'I see you've brought the Mudblood to join us,' he says, a hard, mocking edge to his words. He steps forward into the corridor, and his features are harshly illuminated by the blue light. Angry. Furiously angry. 'How charming. But then, you've always known how to treat your guests with hospitality, father-'

'Let's not play games, Draco,' Lucius says, his voice hard. 'You know why I'm here as well as I do. So why don't you just say what you want to say?'

Draco's nostrils flare with temper. My stomach clenches. I don't want to hear what he's got to say. I don't want to watch as yet another person is damaged by what Lucius and I are doing.

At first it was only me getting hurt. Then it was Lucius, too. Now Ron, and Draco…

Draco's hand is clenched around his wand.

'You lied to me,' he whispers, his cheeks flushing.

He pauses, trying to collect himself, and Lucius' lip curls up in anger.

'And you disobeyed me, Draco,' he mutters. 'I told you not to bother the Mudblood again-'

'Or I would forfeit my position as your son!' Draco interrupts him, his voice rising with rage. 'Yes, I remember. I haven't been able to forget those words. Do you know what it's like, knowing that your own father values the life of a Mudblood more than he values you?'

Any other father would be hurt by those words. Any other father would drop his wand immediately, hug his son, and tell him that he loved him more than anything else in the world…

But all Draco receives from Lucius is a cold, heartless stare, and so he carries on speaking, his voice shaking slightly.

'You told me just this morning to grow myself a backbone, and so I did,' he says, with something like pride in his voice. 'I decided to find out once and for all whether my suspicions were correct. And it turns out I was right, doesn't it?' he says, almost triumphantly. 'And you're a liar, and a hypocrite, because all this time you've been fucking a Mudblood behind my mother's back-'

'_Expelliar-_'

'_Protego!_' Draco's wand slips slightly from his fingers, but he keeps his grip on it and manages to repel his father's spell. Father and son hold their wands aloft, trained on each other.

My heart is beating so hard it's going to explode.

The pair of them stare at each other, and there's cold hard rage in their identical pairs of eyes.

'I don't hear you denying it, father,' Draco whispers.

Lucius' lips thin out. 'What would be the point? You already know the truth, and I'm not going to insult your intelligence by pretending otherwise.'

That surprises me. Why isn't he trying to cover his tracks, like he should be doing? He's a master strategist; he must be able to come up with _something_.

He can't just be thinking that Draco might keep this a secret for us, can he?

_He did the same with Ron._

But that's different. Ron loves… _loved _me, and I love him. Draco… Draco's never received anything but cold condescension from his father.

'Have you told anyone what you have discovered?' Lucius asks, his voice cold and calm, god knows how, but it is.

Ice trickles down into my gut as I await his answer. But-

'No,' Draco says sullenly. 'Not _yet_, anyway.'

Lucius' sigh of relief is almost inaudible.

Suddenly, I can breathe again. At least no-one else knows. Perhaps there's hope for us yet.

'Tell me, father,' Draco asks furiously. His wand is shaking in his hand. 'I want to know one thing - everything you've told me my whole life about the purity of blood, was it all a pack of lies?'

Lucius' face is set hard. 'Of course not.'

'Then why doesn't it mean anything to you?' Draco's voice is scratchy and hoarse with pent up rage. 'Everything you've told me about blood traitors and Mudbloods and the duty of Purebloods – what does it all mean, if you end up fucking the first Mudblood slut that comes your way?'

Draco's pushing it too far, I know it. A muscle goes in Lucius' cheek, and he raises his wand higher, but Draco raises his too.

'Watch your tongue,' Lucius mutters.

Draco presses his lips together, his eyes gleaming mutinously.

Lucius takes a deep breath. 'They were not lies, Draco,' he murmurs. 'It's still true, all of it. What you have discovered does not change that.'

'So she's different from the rest of the Mudblood scum, is that what you're saying?' Draco asks, his voice hard and mocking.

But Lucius doesn't rise to the bait. 'I never said that,' he near-whispers. 'She hasn't made my change my stance on her kind.'

And I know it's not true, not really, but it still hurts me like acid to the soul, and it makes me start to wonder whether he still, after _everything_, tells himself that, but… but how _can_ he?

'That doesn't make it any better!' Draco shouts. 'I mean… she's… she's _my age!_' He bursts out suddenly. '_MY age_, for crying out loud! How can you even…'

Lucius' face is white and solid, but Draco's cheeks are pink, and his lips are moving furiously.

'Do you always go for girls young enough to be your daughter?' he asks, his anger egging on his bravery, no doubt. 'Did you want to fuck Pansy as well, when I used to invite her home for dinner?'

Lucius breathes a small, mocking laugh. 'What, that thing?' he drawls, his eyes alight with malice for a moment as he claims yet another brief triumph over his son. 'Oh, she was _sacred_, I can assure you.'

Draco's eyes flash with anger. 'That's not the point! I went to school with Granger. She's… she's only _eighteen_, for god's sake! Why can't you at least go for a Mudblood your own age?'

I wonder for a second at that. It must be weird for Draco, to know that his father's sleeping with someone he's known since he was eleven years old.

Lucius' face is hard, unmoving, but I can see the rage in his eyes. 'Would that really make the situation any better?' he asks quietly.

I don't think Draco knows how to answer that. His mouth works furiously for a few seconds with indecision.

What's Lucius playing at? Why isn't he trying to get us out of this?

_Trust him. He'll get you out of this. _

'Is she the first?' Draco whispers, as if he almost doesn't want to know the answer to his question. 'The first _Mudblood_, I mean.'

Lucius' features arch, as if the very question has insulted him. 'Yes,' he replies shortly. 'Of course.'

_Oh, what an honour_, I think bitterly.

That doesn't seem to be enough for Draco. 'Does my mother know?' he asks.

Lucius shakes his head in irritation. 'Of course not. Do you really think I'd insult her by allowing her to discover that her husband and a-'

He trails off, his words disappearing into thin air, because apparently it's _still_ just too abhorrent for him to even put words to, thank you very bloody much, Lucius.

But Draco just glares at his father. 'Haven't you insulted her enough already?' he hisses. 'Just because she doesn't know, doesn't mean it's not going on, does it?'

Lucius' grip on his wand tightens, and Draco's own wand raises several inches. Neither of them have any colour in their faces at all.

'I just… don't understand!' Draco whispers. 'Don't you realise just what will happen to you if you're found out?'

Lucius stares at his son coldly. 'Your arrogance is overwhelming,' he murmurs. 'You seem to forget that I have been a Death Eater far, far longer than you have.'

He pauses, narrowing his eyes, and I realise now that still, after everything, his arrogance will not allow his pride to be insulted.

'Don't lecture me on a world I know far better than you do, Draco.' His voice is a quiet hiss of venom. 'Of course I know what will happen to me should we be discovered.'

Draco bares his teeth in a disbelieving sneer.

'Why are you putting yourself in so much danger for _her_?' he hisses uncomprehendingly. 'How could she possibly be worth all this trouble? She's got nothing going for her! She's ugly, she's irritating, she's arrogant-'

'And brave, intelligent, and strong.'

A long silence unfurls between the three of us.

I look at Lucius incredulously, my mouth hanging open.

He's frowning, slightly, as if he can't quite believe what he just said, either.

Draco looks like he's just swallowed a mouthful of salt.

'Oh,' he says, his voice oddly constricted. 'Oh, I see. So that's what makes it all worthwhile, is it?'

Lucius' knuckles whiten as he tightens his grip on his wand.

Draco eyes his father's hand warily before he looks him hard in the eye and carries on speaking.

'It can't be long before you're discovered, Father, you do know that?' he whispers.

Lucius' face is admirably firm. I don't know how he manages it. My stomach is churning so quickly I feel like I'm going to be sick any minute now.

'You underestimate me, I fear,' he mutters, his voice a steel thread. 'I know what I'm doing, and how to keep us safe-'

'_Do _you?' Draco sneers, mocking his father – something he wouldn't have dared to do once upon a time. 'Well, I think you'll find that you're not as safe as you'd like to think.'

Terror clutches at me like an iron fist around my throat. Breathless with fear, I look at Lucius. His face is ice-white.

'What do you mean by that?' he asks, his lips barely moving.

Draco's lips stretch back into a shaky smile. 'Come on.' He attempts a drawl worthy of his father. He fails, of course. 'Don't tell me you haven't thought about _why_ Avery's here in the first place.'

For a moment, I can't hear Lucius breathing.

My brain is shutting down with fear. All I can process is one thought. _Avery knows, Avery knows…_

'Are you certain?' Lucius asks.

'As certain as I can be,' Draco replies triumphantly. 'Aunty Bella told me that a few day ago he'd told her that the Dark Lord sent him here to keep an eye on you and your relationship with… with _her_.' He spits out the last word with disgust. 'And if you carry on with her, then it'll only be a matter of time before you're caught. Will you put your life on the line for a Mudblood?'

_Shit._ Oh shit, I _knew_ it! I knew that Avery knew, and I tried to tell Lucius, I tried… oh god, why didn't he _listen _to me?

What are we going to _do_?

Without thinking, I turn to Lucius, gripping him by the arm. His white face, solid with grim fear and resignation, doesn't turn away from his son.

'He can't know, can he, Lucius?' I gabble frantically. 'I mean, he suspects, we knew that he did, but he can't _know_-'

'SHUT UP, GRANGER!' Draco shouts. I turn to him automatically. He's got flecks of spit on his chin. 'Just keep that fat mouth of yours shut, for once! And how _dare_ you drape yourself all over my father right in front of me? _Cruc-_'

'_Protego!_' Lucius rebounds the curse, as quick as a flash.

And without thinking about what I'm doing, I instinctively reach down and grip his hand in gratitude.

Draco sees this, of course. His eyes become narrow slits for a moment, before he seems to droop, suddenly.

'You're learning, Draco,' Lucius says in his cold, clipped drawl. 'And improving, all the time. You very nearly took me by surprise, there.'

Draco just looks at his father, his eyes brightening. 'Well, I know how _that _feels,' he mutters.

Lucius and I watch as Draco takes in a deep, shuddering breath, without taking his eyes off his father's face.

I slip my hand out of Lucius' grip.

'Do you know what it's like to have your values shattered by the one person who built them up in the first place?' he whispers. 'Do you have any idea how that makes me feel? You've betrayed me, father.'

Lucius takes in a deep breath through his nose.

'If you feel that way, it is not my fault,' he mutters. 'You put too much faith in others, Draco. I have told you time and time again not to do that. You should have realised long ago that you can only rely on yourself in this world, because everything and everyone else will only betray you in the end, albeit sometimes unwillingly.'

I feel cold, but that's nothing to how Draco must be feeling. He looks desperately into his father's face.

Why can't Lucius just see that Draco loves him? Or if he already knows it, then why can't he just show him some affection, even if in reality it's all false?

After all, are what's true and what we believe really all that different?

Draco swallows down hard. As his eyes begin to shine with tears, an ugly flush of humiliation spreads across his cheeks.

'Why can I never do enough to please you?' His voice shakes with suppressed anguish. He's been wanting to say this for years, I know that he has.

Lucius looks at him stonily. He offers no assurance whatsoever. 'What are you trying to say?'

Draco takes a deep breath through his nose, obviously trying to calm himself down.

I wish I could dissolve into the floor. I shouldn't be here, in this moment, I know that I shouldn't.

'All I've ever tried to do is live up to your expectations; to make you proud!' His voice wobbles all over the place, despite his best efforts to control it. 'And it's never been enough, never. And now I find that it was all a waste of time!'

Lucius rolls his eyes. 'Reprimand the mistakes I have made with the Mudblood if you must, Draco,' he drawls. 'But don't _simper_ all over me; I'll not endure it.'

Draco looks as if his father's just hit him.

I can't help but feel sorry for him. If Lucius would just… oh, I don't know, just hug Draco, or something, or even just tell him that he loves him, then it would probably make up for all the crushing disappointment Draco's feeling right now.

But instead all he gets is a cold look, a slightly raised eyebrow, and narrowed eyes.

He presses his lips together for a moment, seeming to struggle with himself, before he bursts out with-

'Do you have any idea what it's been like growing up in your shadow? All I've ever been told is that one day I'll follow in your footsteps. You yourself told me time and time again that when the Dark Lord came back to power I would serve him as you have done. You've been telling me that since I was old enough to talk!'

And without even thinking about it, I step forwards, words escaping my throat before I can even think about them.

'Draco, it doesn't have to be this way!' I whisper, desperate that he should calm down before anyone can hear us. 'Your father might be beyond redemption, but _you're_ not. You could be a better person than he is!'

Draco turns to me with a look of absolute hatred. Not just fury, but pure and utter loathing…

But his wand doesn't turn with him. It remains where it is, positioned in mid-air, pointing at his father.

I feel Lucius step up closer behind me, his wand still raised, and Draco's eyes flash when he sees it.

'A _better person_?' He spits the words at me. 'What, like _you_, you mean? You're so bloody self-righteous, Granger. Who are you to lecture me on what's right and wrong, after what you've been doing to my mother?'

I close my mouth like a trap in pure abashed humiliation, because he's right. I can't claim a real moral high ground over him, not anymore. And not just because of what I've been doing to his mother. There's that old, dark secret of Lucius' and mine – I became a murderer to save his life.

A hard look of defiance creeps into Draco's gaze as he turns away from me to face Lucius once again. I never really noticed it before, but his eyes are almost as expressive as his father's.

'Why should I keep this a secret for you?' he whispers.

Lucius raises his head slightly. Draco's treading a very thin line, I know it. I can see his father trying to keep his temper under control.

'You're suggesting you might do otherwise?' he asks quietly.

The fear on Draco's face is slowly hardening into cold, hard rage.

'You told me yourself, so many times, that loyalty to the pure-blood cause comes above family ties.' He's breathless, but with anger or fear, who can say? 'No doubt you were always talking about Aunt Andromeda and her side of the family. But… but why doesn't the same rule apply to you?'

Oh god. He's really going to do it. He's going to condemn me and his father in return for years of neglect on Lucius' part.

I'm shaking. I'm really, really shaking. And I can't ask Lucius to hold me and make everything better, because that would only make everything worse.

Lucius' expression is unflinching. After all, he's a master at hiding his emotions.

'If you want to tell the Dark Lord what you have discovered, then I will not stop you.'

For god's sake, isn't he even going to _try_ and stop him?

But… no. I know what he's doing. He's calling Draco's bluff. He's a master strategist. His son could never match up to him.

That's why his voice is refusing to shake, while Draco's wobbles all over the place.

Draco hesitates, his wand shaking furiously in his hand, and Lucius takes advantage of his indecision.

'But you must realise, Draco, that if you _do _decide to tell him, then you will no longer have a father,' he murmurs. 'My life, and that of the Mudblood, will be over in the brief second it will take the Dark Lord to mutter a killing curse.'

Draco's already pale face turns marble white, but he seems to hold firm.

'I know that!' he hisses. 'I'm not stupid, father!'

'Did I suggest that you were?'

There's a sliver of urgency in Lucius' voice. So fine, so small, that you wouldn't know it was there if you didn't know him.

But… but he said to me, so long ago, that he wasn't afraid to die; that there were worse things than death, and he would be a poor excuse for a Death Eater if he feared it…

So why does he seem to care so much about dying now?

_Because it's not just _his _life on the line, is it?_

But… but that would mean…

_Think about it. If you were to die, then what would be left for him? You've taken everything else._

Draco's wand seems to lower a fraction.

'I should tell him,' he mutters, his voice desperate. 'I know that you would do the same if our roles were reversed.'

My breath clogs up in my lungs with terror. Oh no, I don't want to die… I don't want _him _to die…

Lucius' reaction gives nothing away. His face is a blank mask.

Draco's wand lowers further, and further, oh so slowly, until it eventually rests loose in his hand by his side.

'But… but I couldn't condemn my own father… could I?'

Tears are rolling slowly down his cheeks. I feel like I'm watching something indecent and wrong. Draco Malfoy doesn't cry. And if he does, then he certainly doesn't want the Mudblood that's destroyed all of his illusions to see it.

Lucius' face doesn't even flicker. If anything, all his face shows is scorn.

Draco swallows, and when he speaks again his voice cracks.

'I just… I just _can't._' He takes a small step towards his father, his eyes bright and shining. 'I couldn't do that to you. I'd do anything for you, Father – you know that!'

It's like watching a puppy that still looks hopelessly for its owner after it's been abandoned.

I can feel tears of sympathy starting in the back of my own throat.

But Lucius has no sympathy, no pity. His face is rock hard.

'Sometimes I wonder if I have taught you anything at all, Draco. Surely by now you know never to lower your wand in front of an adversary,' he mutters, before quick as a flash, he flicks his wand at his son, his own son. '_Stupefy!_'

What… _what?_

The shock doesn't die from Draco's face as he falls backwards, slumping on the ground, unconscious.

I watch numbly as Lucius steps towards his son, his own son, and he points his wand at him, only his face betraying his utter relief.

'_Obliviate!_'

Draco's eyes flutter for a moment before they close once again as his memory is wiped away forever.


	37. Love

'_JULIET:__ Wilt thou be gone? It is not yet near day: it was the nightingale, and not the lark, that pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear; nightly she sings on yon pomegranate-tree: believe me, love, it was the nightingale._

_ROMEO:__ It was the lark, the herald of the morn, no nightingale: look, love, what envious streaks do lace the severing clouds in yonder east: night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops. I must be gone and live, or stay and die.' _– William Shakespeare,_ Romeo and Juliet_

* * *

Lucius reaches down and takes the hand of the unconscious body on the floor.

It just… doesn't seem real. Nothing about this seems real. It seems separate from the here and now – like I'm watching a film, or reading a book.

I don't even feel relief. I feel, if anything, a little sick. Exhausted.

Lucius turns, holding his free hand out to me.

'Come on,' he says, keeping his voice soft. 'We need to get out of here as swiftly as possible.'

Wordlessly I reach out and slide my fingers into his own, and he takes the small silver key out of his robes and all in one moment we're squeezing into a tiny airless void, the three of us, linked by our hands…

We come to land in my bedroom.

Lucius drops my hand, keeping hold of his son's.

'I'll put him back in his own bed,' he mutters. 'If he regains consciousness anywhere else his suspicions will be raised.' He locks his gaze onto mine. 'I shall return here shortly, and then I shall speak with you.'

He disappears into thin air, taking his son with him.

I blink, taking a deep breath.

I slowly make my way over to my bed, and lower myself down, oh so slowly, feeling every muscle cry out in protest as I sit on the edge of my bed, my feet only just touching the floor.

I have to remind myself to breathe.

My fingers dig into the edge of the mattress.

I don't know what to think, or what to feel.

Memories are what fill my brain. Nothing but memories of the past hour or so.

_Brave, intelligent, and strong…_

What do those words mean for… for _us_?

What name can I put to _this_, after that? How can I still just use the word 'fucking' for this?

'Fucking' implies lack of emotion and feeling. 'Fucking' implies sordid alleyways and seedy hotels. Pure and simple sex, that's what 'fucking' is.

And I can't only use that word for this any more.

So what _can_ I use to describe what's going on between us, then?

A quiet popping noise signals his return to the room.

I stand up quickly.

'Is he… safe?' I say hesitantly.

He smirks grimly and nods. 'Safe as he can be. When he wakes, he will be in his own bed. It will be as if all of yesterday never happened for him. It's not an ideal solution, but it will have to do.'

It'll have to do. The removal of his son's memory will have to do. That horrible, violating, coward's way out will _have to do_…

I shake my head. 'You didn't have to obliviate him.'

He arches an eyebrow. 'And what else do you think I could have done? Are we to just go on and on with more and more people finding out about us, one by one?'

A dark glint is gathering in his eyes, and I don't like it. I don't like it at all. I've seen him like this before.

'I was prepared to let Weasley's discovery go,' he mutters. 'His Gryffindor ideas of nobility and his absurd notion that he might somehow _love_ you would see to his silence. But my son…'

He trails off for a moment, before he collects himself.

'He has no discretion,' he mutters. 'I know him – he's never been able to keep his mouth shut. If I'd allowed him to remember what he had discovered, then half the world would know by tomorrow lunchtime.'

And… oh god, as much as I despise Draco, I just can't let that go.

'He loves you!' I exclaim, more indignantly than perhaps is necessary given the circumstances. 'He would have kept it a secret to keep you alive, I know that he would.'

His mouth twists as he considers my words. 'Perhaps,' he says eventually. 'But his loose tongue would give us away in the end. Think about it - he couldn't even keep his quest to kill Dumbledore a secret.'

I draw in a breath. That's true, I suppose, but… oh god, it's just so cruel, all of it!

'We could not afford to allow him to keep the knowledge, not when we already have Bellatrix's suspicions to worry about,' he goes on. 'And now it's a certainty that the Dark Lord himself suspects us to such an extent that he's sent someone to spy on us.'

He turns his head, looking off into the middle distance, temporarily lost in his own thoughts.

'I knew he thought there was something going on,' he mutters. 'How could he not, with Antonin whispering jealous poison in his ear every other moment? And when I spared your life, and went after you at the Weasleys'…'

He trails off, bringing his hand to his forehead, rubbing at it, before he lowers it again and he looks directly at me, frowning.

'What did you say to him when he asked to dine with you?'

'What?' I ask stupidly.

He doesn't roll his eyes, or make a scathing comment at my hesitation as he would have done once. The situation is far too serious for that.

'When he asked to dine with you, shortly after Antonin died,' he says, taking rapid steps towards me, 'did you say anything to give him any reason to suspect-'

'No!' I say hotly, getting my senses back, recovering them. 'I didn't say anything. I told you so at the time.'

He looks searchingly into my face for a moment, but he doesn't perform legimilency on me.

'And what reason would you have to lie?' he whispers, before he turns away from me, striding up and down the room swiftly with restless energy.

I watch him; watch his rapid movements. He doesn't know what to do, and neither do I, oh god, we're stuck…

'What are we going to do?' I whisper shakily.

He looks at me. His eyes are almost… wild. He doesn't look like the man I know. The Lucius Malfoy I know isn't afraid of anything, except perhaps himself.

I've seen him look like this only once before. Just after we killed Dolohov together.

'I don't know,' he says with a voice that's hard and harsh. 'Do you have any suggestions?'

My mouth opens and closes like an idiotic goldfish as I try to work out what the hell we're going to do…

He shakes his head, laughing darkly.

'No, of course you don't,' he mutters rapidly, 'because there's nothing we _can _do.'

He starts to walk towards me, and I find myself backing away from him because he's got a dangerous glint in his eye – one that tells me there's no guessing what he might do in his fear.

'My son and sister in law's suspicions were already enough to worry us.' His voice is a low current of fear. 'But if Avery suspects, then there is nothing to keep us safe. No family ties, no dark secrets – nothing. Duty is all that matters to Avery, and his _duty_ is to discover what is going on between us.'

My back bumps into the cold stone wall behind me.

'It might be alright!' I say desperately. 'He doesn't _know_ yet-'

His hand suddenly pins itself on my throat, pinning me to the wall as his eyes flare with something close to madness.

'_Yet!_' he says violently. 'That's the crucial word, isn't it? _Yet!_ For god's sake, he probably knows more than half of it already! You've seen him as I have – collecting little scraps of information here and there. Every look we've exchanged he'll have seen, every word, every little interaction-'

'Then why didn't you do anything about it?' I hiss up into his face. 'If you've known all this time, then why haven't you done something to stop it?'

His hand tightens on my throat.

'What could I have done?' he hisses. 'If I confronted him or the Dark Lord about it, I would have as good as admitted my guilt. To dispose of Avery would only lead to trouble after the suspicious circumstances of Dolohov's disappearance. We were lucky enough to escape _that_ little scenario with our lives intact, but if Avery were to go missing too...' He trails off and his hand tightens even more, until I'm almost choking in this horrible grip of iron. 'So what, _exactly_, am I supposed to have done?' he whispers.

I look up desperately into his face, feeling my throat contract and swell as I choke, and oh god, we're ruined, both of us, we're lost.

His harsh breathing slows, gradually, and he eventually releases my throat as the mad glint in his eyes fades away once more.

I reach up and massage my sore neck. His lips settle in a thin line as he watches me, before he speaks again.

'I thought I could keep it a secret – that I could protect us both,' he murmurs. 'But this evening it's been proved just how easy it would be for him to discover exactly what's going on. If someone as inept as my son can do it, then so can a highly experienced Death Eater.'

I take a few deep breaths to steady myself.

'He doesn't _know_-' I start, but he interrupts me.

'No, not yet, but he will.' His voice isn't harsh or angry any more. He's speaking with an almost… calm, grim certainty. 'And as soon as he does he'll go straight to the Dark Lord. I know him. And when he does that, then both our lives with be over.'

I start to shake uncontrollably. 'Are you certain?' I whisper.

He grins without any mirth whatsoever. 'Absolutely. I myself have disposed of many Blood Traitors. As soon as a Death Eater betrays their blood, then both they and the Muggle they betrayed it for will die instantly.'

I shiver. Oh god, oh, why, _why_?

'It doesn't have to be this way!' I reach out, grazing my palm over his cheek. His eyes burn into mine with an intensity that makes me feel dizzy. 'Why can't we just… _leave_?'

He's staring at me, looking as if I've just told him that the earth is square, or the sky is green. He can't physically comprehend what I just said.

But I won't stop myself now.

'You and me, why don't we just _go_?' My voice cracks as I speak. 'We could escape this place and we could go… _anywhere_. Somewhere where there's no-one to tell us that this is wrong. Somewhere we could be together without anyone to make us feel ashamed-'

He closes his eyes and shakes his head, as if he can hardly bear to hear what I'm saying.

'You ask the impossible,' he mutters, his voice tight and strained.

He opens his eyes as his fingers close around my wrist and wrench my hand away from him, before he turns away from me…

No. I won't _let_ him shut me out anymore.

My hand closes over his shoulder, pulling him back to face me. His expression is a mixture of anger and agony.

'Is it so wrong that I want to be with you?' I whisper furiously. 'God knows, it should be, after everything you've done to me. But I _do_, Lucius!'

I pause, and as I feel those words sink in, I realize that it's true. God help me, god help us both, but it is.

His face is rock hard as it struggles with all the emotion edging its way onto it.

But he doesn't say anything, and so I carry on.

'It's all I want in the world.' My voice catches in my throat. 'And if you want something badly enough then there's always a way of achieving it.'

He wrenches himself from my grasp and takes a step back from me, and in this moment he looks almost deranged.

'You're asking for something I can't _possibly_ give!' he shouts. 'You've _always_ been asking for something I can't give! First it was my pity and then it was my protection and then it was my care. You received all of those in abundance, so why now do you push me to give up my very _existence_ for you?'

'I'm not asking you to give up your _life_!' I say, shaking with emotion. 'I'm asking you to _live_ it, Lucius!'

'_Live_?' he repeats incredulously, before he laughs a long, gurgling laugh of the darkest bitterness imaginable. 'How do you imagine we should _live_? We'd be tracked down by my colleagues within weeks, and they'd kill us both, you know that they would. I wouldn't be able to protect you against the wrath of the Dark Lord himself.'

I swallow quickly. 'The Order will protect us-'

'The Order!' he says, his voice a low growl. 'Oh yes, your all-powerful friends. Tell me, Mudblood, where were the _Order _when Dumbledore died? Where were the _Order_ when you were taken prisoner?'

'They're just as powerful as the Death Eaters!' I say heatedly. 'They'd be able to help us, I know it.'

He smiles joylessly. 'Somehow, I doubt very much they'd be willing to help me when I've dedicated my entire existence to bringing them down. Especially when they find out what's going on between us.'

And with that, my words stop, because it's true. I know it is. If we ever get out of here and go to the Order for help, they'll say I've become attached to Lucius only because my mind's been addled by months of imprisonment, and Lucius will be arrested for rape if nothing else.

We stare at each other, our breathing heavy, until I eventually say the only thing I can cling to.

'We could find a way,' I whisper.

He shakes his head, an odd, resentful smirk curling up a corner of his mouth.

'Damn you and your insufferable ideals,' he mutters, turning away from me. 'I though I'd cured you of them long ago.'

He leans against the stone wall, robbing me of the ability to see his face, to read his expression… oh, why can't he just let me _in_?

'It's over, Mudblood.'

What?

I…

Neither of us say anything. The silence is deafening and absolute.

A cold trickle makes its way down into my gut.

'W-what?' I stutter.

He takes a deep breath and turns back to face me, his face like rock, because he can't afford for emotion to get in the way of what he has to do, I know it.

I know _him_.

'If Avery has been sent here to spy on the pair of us, then surely it will only be a matter of time before he discovers what's going on,' he pauses, and I can see his eyes flickering with genuine emotion, as much as he tries to disguise it, 'unless we stop all of this now. That way, he will no longer _have _something to discover.'

I clench my hands into fists down by my sides, digging my nails into my palms, trying to get some control back.

'I… I don't understand.' The words stumble hesitantly out of my mouth.

A muscle is going in his cheek. He's trying to keep control, I know it. But no matter what he does, he can never quite keep his eyes from showing me everything I need to know about what he's really feeling, these days.

'Yes, you do,' he mutters, his voice so low I can barely hear it. 'You understood before I did. We have to end it, Mudblood. It's the only solution.'

I close my eyes for a moment, lost in pain. Isn't this what I've wanted all this time?

How could I possibly have wanted _this_?

Somehow, I force my eyes open. I force myself to look into the face of the man who's tearing both our hearts out simultaneously.

His face is rigid.

There's too much space between us… too much… I need to breach it…

I take a step forward, and another, and he stays where he is, although he very much looks as if he's forcing himself to do so.

'You're going to abandon me, after everything?' I ask, my voice a trembling flutter of a whisper. 'After everything we've been through for each other? After you risked everything to come after me at the Burrow, and you killed Dolohov for me – has all of that been for _nothing?_'

I reach out with a shaking hand, but I falter, and I drop my hand before it can reach him.

'I've lost _everything_ for you!' I can barely hear my own voice. 'You can't stand there and tell me that you've wrecked my whole life for your own selfish weakness, and now you just want to give it all up without a fight!'

He shakes his head, and I can see the pain in his eyes. 'You've _got_ to understand,' he murmurs. 'If Avery finds out about us then he will tell the Dark Lord immediately. And when _he_ finds out…' He pauses for a moment, before he collects himself. 'We'd both be dead in a moment. He himself might even do the honours.'

'But I _don't_ understand! You told me so many times that you weren't afraid to die. If that's still the case, then what are you afraid of now?'

Suddenly, he reaches out and grips me by the hair, pulling me closer to him, and I whimper in pain, but I can feel our bodies touching through our robes, and I can't breathe, I just can't, all I can do is feel… feel _him_…

His breathing skates over my cheek.

He loosens his grip from my hair as he pulls himself together, but still he holds me close, looking desperately down into my face.

'This is the only way, don't you see?'

And he hasn't answered my question, but he doesn't need to, not really. I know what he fears losing now. I didn't even need to ask him in the first place.

For a moment his face moves closer to mine, close enough to kiss, and I hope that he does, because if he does it might be enough for him to stay…

But he grits his teeth and pulls back from me.

'You'll die if I don't do this,' he whispers. 'And I won't witness that.'

'I'll die anyway!' Words roll out of my mouth in a long, tangled ribbon as I slide my hands up onto his shoulders. 'Avery said only today that Mr. and Mrs. Weasley are rebelling against you, and that pretty soon you won't need me anymore!'

His nostrils flare as he takes in the deepest of breaths to steady himself. 'Which means it's going to be harder than ever for me to keep you alive.' His voice is so quiet I can't tell whether it's shaking or not. 'God knows – the Dark Lord could easily ask me to kill you myself to test my loyalty. But if I distance myself from you, then perhaps he'll forget about you and leave you be.'

I pause, my heart throbbing in my throat.

'Would you do it?' I ask, my fingernails digging into his shoulders. 'If he ordered you to kill me, would you do it?'

He winces. 'Of course I wouldn't,' is all he says. Quietly, but without any hesitation whatsoever.

'Coward,' I whisper.

He _almost_ smirks. 'Isn't this what you wanted, Mudblood?' he murmurs. 'Time and time again you've tried to end what's going on, and I've denied you. You haven't always been so eager to keep me close to you.'

I feel a kick of hysterical anger in my gut. 'This won't be made any easier by you being cruel to me, Lucius!' I whisper passionately. 'You knew as well as I did that I couldn't end it. I wanted to, but I couldn't – you know that!'

I stand on my tiptoes and I press my lips to his, curling my hands over his shoulders, and for a moment his guard is lost as his stiff body relaxes against mine, merging into it, and his mouth falls open and the kiss deepens and hardens as his hands grip hard at my waist, pulling me closer…

But he breaks away, suddenly. Rips himself away from me and leaves me cold and alone.

'No,' he mutters, refusing to look at me. 'Damn you, you _must_ let me do this.'

He walks quickly to the door, turning to face me as he reaches it.

I'm trembling with what I know to be impending agony. When he leaves this room, it'll all be over, and then… oh god, what then? What is there for me when he's gone?

_He's not dying. You'll still see him every day._

But how can that be the _same_? I don't want to just see him every day. I want to be with him every moment.

His knuckles are pure white as they grip at the door handle.

There's no colour at all in his skin. His eyes are huge great black holes in his mask-like face.

'I'm hurting you for your own good,' he mutters, his voice far from stable. 'You have to forget that any of this ever happened. We both do.'

But… but how can I promise that? He knows as well as I do that I couldn't forget all of this any sooner than I could forget my own name.

And from the look on his face, the same applies to him.

I take a deep breath, and a shiver spasms through my body.

'For _our_ own good, Lucius?' is all I say, and it comes out as the tiniest of whispers.

All he does for long, agonizing moments is stare at me.

'In time, you'll understand,' he says, his voice impossibly tight, before he turns quickly and leaves the room, slamming the door shut behind him with such force it seems to shake the room.

I stare ahead of me, the closed door swimming before my eyes.

For perhaps half a minute, all I can hear is complete and utter silence, and I hope, I pray, that he'll come back, that he won't be able to leave, that he won't break my heart in two…

But after an eternity filled with agonizing hope. I hear swift footsteps moving off down the corridor, away from me, away from everything that there ever was between us.

I sway where I stand, catching my breath in sharp gulps.

I feel dizzy.

I feel cold.

I feel… _tears_. Tears well up inside of me, threatening to consume me, take me over, drown me in misery…

'I love you,' I whisper.

But the silence and the emptiness of the room swallow my words whole.

He's gone. He's really… he's just… _gone_.

A sob bursts out of me, hot and dry and ragged, and without even thinking about what I'm doing I turn and I run into the bathroom, covering my hand with my mouth as I feel my stomach churn, and churn, over and over like a washing machine. My bare feet slap on the cold floor as I run, desperate to escape it all – the agony of my own emotions.

I can't breathe.

I can't _think_ properly.

All I know is he's gone. It's over, he said. Never again, ever, ever, he's left me all alone…

And I love him. God help me, but it's true.

I stumble into the bathroom and I barely reach the toilet in time before I wrench the lid up and vomit into the clean white porcelain bowl.


	38. Untreatable Wounds

'_Yet come to me in dreams, that I may live  
My very life again though cold in death:  
Come back to me in dreams, that I may give  
Pulse for pulse, breath for breath:  
Speak low, lean low,  
As long ago, my love, how long ago.' – _Christina Rossetti_, Echo _

* * *

I lie awake in the dark; alone once again for the tenth night in a row.

How do I _know_ it's the tenth night in a row? Simple – I've been keeping count. That's how pathetic I am.

When he first left me, all that time ago, I convinced myself that he'd come back. I didn't go to bed that night because I was certain that he would come back for me at any moment.

I waited for a long time. Too long. It was only when Bellatrix came to my room and took me downstairs to do my chores the next day that I realised that the night had been and gone.

And so the next night I waited for him. And then the night after that.

But he didn't come back, no matter how hard I wished for it.

I'm really beginning to wonder if he ever will.

I hate him for it. I hate him for leaving me so alone - for taking away the one thing I have left in my entire existence. His weakness for me became my salvation. It was the one thing in this place I could feed on for comfort. It gave me back a reason for living – if _he _could give up everything for me, then that meant I wasn't the worthless scum he himself made me believe that I was.

And I hate him for taking that away from me.

But at the same time I know he must be going through the same hell I'm going through. The same unbearable, murderous agony that I feel every hour of every day. And it's all for me. He'd do anything for me, anything.

It's so hard, though. He doesn't even come to _see _me anymore. It's always someone else who takes me to do my chores, or brings me my food.

I see him occasionally, though. Neither of us can help it. He'll be in the room sometimes when I'm cleaning, or he'll pass me in a hallway. Never looking at me. Always refusing to look at me.

It cuts into my soul every time.

Every night as I go to bed I'm so wiped out with longing I know I should fall asleep instantly, but I never do. I lie awake, hoping. Always, always hoping.

It seems I still haven't learned how to give up hope, after all.

I can't sleep. I can't ever sleep. Every night I just lie in my bed, every whisper of wind or creaking floorboard lighting up every nerve in my body.

But it's never what I pray it might be.

He's left me so alone, and all there is now is the cold, dark emptiness of my room.

Sometimes I have to force myself to remember that I'm still alive, that it's just pretend, that my heart's still beating and my blood is still warm. I'm not really dead. I just feel it.

But I can't take any comfort in that. Perhaps if I wanted to carry on living I might be able to, but I don't.

So I can't.

* * *

_Ow!_

I draw in a sharp gasp, rubbing at my stomach slowly before taking in a couple of deep, ragged breaths.

The pain subsides after a while.

I turn sharply and walk very quickly into the bathroom, shutting the door so I can see what I think (_hope_) it might be…

But it isn't, which I suppose I should be thankful for, in a way, because it doesn't mean having to make use of toilet tissue like I've had to do whenever it's come before.

I swallow down hard before I smooth my robe down and walk back into my bedroom.

_Calm down. It's hunger, that's all it is. After all, you haven't eaten anything today._

I sit down in front of my dressing table, gripping at it hard as I look into the mirror in front of me, more to distract myself than anything else.

I don't even know who that girl is. I see a pinched face, so pale it's almost yellow. Dead, weary eyes, surrounded by purple circles of fatigue. White chapped lips and straggly, knotted hair.

God, no wonder he hasn't come back. Who'd want… who would ever want _that?_

The door creaks open behind me.

I stand up and whirl around, my heart leaping to my throat when I see pale skin and white-blonde hair…

But it isn't him. It's his son.

I sit back down heavily in my chair, letting my breath out in a rush.

And I know that everything's alright. He can't remember anything about the last time I saw him. I know, because of the way he's looking at me. With his usual dislike, but not with the absolute, pure naked _hatred _I saw on his face when he last looked at me.

He narrows his eyes. 'What are you gawping at?' he snaps.

I shake my head. 'Nothing.'

He runs his eyes over me, sneering.

'You look bloody awful.' He smirks. 'You really want to start taking better care of yourself.'

I don't say anything. What would be the point?

He raises his eyebrows at me. 'Nothing to say, Mudblood?' he drawls. 'That'll be the first time in seven years.'

I hate myself for letting him taunt me, but to tell the truth, I simply can't be bothered to play these games with him anymore. He's got a wand. I'm never going to win against that with words, am I?

'Well,' he goes on, 'you might be interested to learn that I've brought someone to see you.'

He steps back from the door, allowing Ron to walk into the room.

Guilt grips at my internal organs like an iron vice as he looks at me. Not smiling. Not frowning. Just… _there_. Like the Ron I once knew, only with all expression and feeling gone from his face.

'You've been granted an hour's visit, Weasley,' Draco says, smiling maliciously. 'So you'd better make the most of it, hmm? Entertain Granger with your, er… _scintillating _conversation, why don't you?'

Ron's eye twitches, but apart from that he doesn't react.

Draco's smirk flickers slightly. 'Good god, what fascinating company you must be for each other,' he mutters, before he strides out of the room. 'Enjoy yourselves, won't you?' is his parting shot before he slams the door shut, locking it behind him.

And so here we are. Alone again, for the first time since that horrible night when everything between us was destroyed.

I know why he's been allowed here. Lucius must have finally relented. He must have told Draco to allow Ron a visit…

He must truly be desperate to push me away if he's letting me and Ron see each other again.

Ron just looks at me for what feels like an eternity, while I desperately try to think of what to say. A hundred options go through my mind. I pick up each one mentally before discarding each and every one of them. There's nothing at all I could say that might make this situation any better.

I clutch at the skirt of my robe. 'How are you?' is what I eventually settle on.

Stupid, stupid, stupid question. What's _wrong _with me?

'Fine,' he says stiltedly. 'You?'

I nod my head once. 'Fine.'

A pause. A long, unbearable pause.

'We haven't seen each other for…' I gulp. 'I've been wondering how you are-'

'Have you?' he asks, his voice a little sharp, and for a brief second his eyes blaze with fire.

I press my lips together.

_Please, please, please don't hate me._

He sighs, the flame in his eyes dying down with resignation once more.

'I've wanted to come and see you,' he mumbles, sliding his gaze down to look at the floor. 'I'm sorry that I haven't been able to. I did ask to, a lot, but I haven't been allowed.'

I swallow down my sigh of relief. If he wanted to come and see me, then he can't still hate me…

Right?

'I know…' He pauses, frowning hard at the floor. 'I know it's… it's _him _that's not been letting me see you.'

There's a queasy kick of shame in my gut.

'I don't know why he's letting me see you now,' he mutters. 'I was starting to wonder if he was ever going to let me see you again.'

I know what I've got to say. I've got to tell him. He deserves to know, he'd _want _to know.

So why am I finding it so hard to just open my mouth and say the words?

I clench my hands and unclench them.

'We're not… we're not… seeing each other… anymore.'

_Seeing each other? What kind of description is that?_

His eyes snap up, blazing once again. Blazing with the cruellest of all emotions – hope.

'You're not…?' He barely breathes the words.

I shake my head. 'No. It's been over for… it must be a few weeks now.'

For a moment is face is alive. Alight. And I start to wonder at such a beautiful expression – perhaps everything _can _be alright, after all.

I could never make Lucius happy – all I ever did was make him hate himself for how he felt about me. But I can make Ron happy, can't I?

But then his eyes harden again. 'Got bored of you, did he?'

I don't think he meant for those words to hurt quite as much as they do. He hasn't got enough malice in him for that. It's not his fault they pierced into my heart like six inch nails.

'It was my decision,' I lie quietly. 'I told him that I didn't want to carry things on, and he just sort of accepted it.'

I know I shouldn't lie to him, but what else can I say? _He ended things with me to save my life, but despite his reasons I begged him not to leave me, because death is nothing in comparison to being without him?_

No, of course I can't say that.

He bites his lip, looking very much as if he doesn't even _dare_ himself to believe what I'm telling him, but he can't quite help but hope I might be telling the truth.

'Honestly?' he asks. 'You're not… you're not lying again?'

I swallow down my guilt and shame and I shake my head. For his sake.

'No.'

A long, tense silence unfurls. I can hear the thud of my own heartbeat louder than anything else in the room. I realise neither of us are even daring to breathe in this moment, though for entirely different reasons.

He presses his lips together and frowns deeply before he works himself up to speak again.

'Do you…' He gulps, looking a little sick. 'Do you miss him?'

_More than I can ever begin to tell you._

'No,' I say, lying once again without hesitation. 'I'm just glad to be left alone, to be honest. It's not as if he treated me very well.'

The corner of his mouth twitches as he attempts a smile. A sad smile.

'You don't have to lie to me, Hermione-'

'I'm not,' I say, perhaps a little too quickly. 'He made my life hell, Ron, honestly… that's why I ended it.'

Whoever knew I'd become so adept at lying? I was always so rubbish at it before.

Well, it seems Lucius has taught me many, many things.

And I won't feel guilty about it. I won't. Ignorance _is _bliss, that's something I've learned – and I won't take away the one bit of comfort Ron can take from this whole situation – that it was _me_ who chose to end it, and not Lucius.

He closes his eyes for a moment and lets out a sigh before he looks at me again, his expression clearing like the sky as the clouds move aside for the sun.

'Well…' He seems to struggle for what he wants to say. 'Well, at least… at least that's…' He takes a deep breath. 'At least you'll be left alone, now.'

I nod.

_Left alone, all alone, so lonely I could die every moment of every day._

I say nothing. I just nod.

'You can…' His words are like a dripping tap, stopping and starting. 'You can… move on, you know? Look forward to when… to when you can get out of here.'

Move on?

I could almost laugh, it's so sad.

And… wait a minute, _when I get out of here_?

'What do you mean?' I ask, frowning. 'I'm not… I mean, neither of us… well…'

I take a deep breath, trying to get a hold of myself. I might as well just say it – it's not as if keeping quiet will make it all go away.

'We're not going to get out of here, Ron,' I say heavily.

He smiles. It's a strange smile. There's no joy in it.

'You haven't heard about my parents, then?' he asks sadly.

My guts twist themselves together for him. I know what he's talking about, I know _exactly_ what he's talking about. But I didn't know that _he_ knew, as well.

'You've got to remember how much they love you,' I say quickly. 'They've done so much to save you already, that must show how much you mean to them-'

'But not enough,' he says, his voice resigned with sadness.

I don't know what to say.

He reaches up and rubs at his arm awkwardly.

'What… what Avery and Bellatrix tried to do to… to Ginny didn't go down well with them, apparently,' he says quietly, his cheeks flushing.

'They hurt you that night too.'

That sad smile remains plastered to his lips. 'But my mum and dad only started to rebel when Ginny got involved, didn't they?' he mutters. 'That's the truth of it, isn't it?'

I shift awkwardly. Ron's always felt like the spare wheel in his family, I know that – and now this whole thing has only made it a thousand times worse.

He shakes his head, closing his eyes for a moment, before he looks at me again.

'It doesn't matter,' he says, waving away all the pain and agony he must be feeling. For my sake. 'What matters is that You-Know-Who doesn't need you anymore. And so they might… let you go.'

_Let me go._

The words sink in, slowly.

_Let me go._

Oh, if only things were that simple.

The only way I'll ever leave this place alive is if Lucius decides to set me free. And if he does that he'll die immediately, I know that he will.

But in spite of that, perhaps… perhaps he _would_ let me go, now. He's already stopped himself from seeing me in an attempt to keep me safe. Perhaps he'd go one step further to protect me.

Perhaps I have taught him _something_, after all.

But if he were to let me go, then… I wouldn't be able to leave. I wouldn't, because I know exactly what would happen to him if I did…

God, could things be any more complicated?

'I don't think… I don't think that means they're going to let me go,' I say hesitantly.

He lifts his arm, as if he's going to reach out to me, but then changes his mind.

'They might,' he says. 'Who knows? If they don't need you anymore, they could easily just obliviate you and set you free.'

I consider this for a moment. Maybe… maybe that would be a way out for us. Perhaps Lucius could convince Voldemort to wipe my memory and let me go. That way he wouldn't have to kill me. He wouldn't have to live with the knowledge that he'd killed the only person he's ever come close to caring for.

But would I really prefer to live like that? To have no memory of my entire time here? To live without ever, ever knowing what's happened during months and months of my life?

And…. and to not have any knowledge of… of _him?_

Perhaps it would be merciful, really. To be able to forget everything that ever happened between us – all the agony he's caused me.

I shake my head. It's all immaterial, because if anything, Voldemort will want Lucius to prove his loyalty by killing me. I know it. He sent Avery here for a reason, didn't he?

'Have you ever considered that they might just… dispose of me?' I ask gently.

His mouth twists down for a second, but he shakes his head.

'I'm sure they won't Hermione,' he says, his voice barely a whisper. 'No-one could ever… who would be able to…?'

He trails off, but I know what he was going to say, and my heart swells so much with love for him that I almost feel faint with it. After all this time, after all I've done, he still cares. Ron, my Ron…

I stride across the room and I throw my arms around his neck, making a small suppressed squeaking noise as I do so. He stiffens in my arms for a moment, and for a long while I wonder whether he's going to hug me back…

But his arms wind heavily around my waist, holding me close to him as he lets out a huge sigh on my shoulder. I smile in sheer relief, tears stinging my eyes, and I can't help but let them roll down my cheeks, dampening the shoulder of his robe, and before I know where I am I'm sobbing.

'Shh. You're alright.' His voice is very thick. 'It's over now. He won't bother you any more. You're safe, I've got you.'

I cling onto him, holding him so tightly it hurts, so tightly we could almost be one being…

But it doesn't heal the yawning, gaping emptiness I can feel deep inside of me. I only wish that it could. Things would be so much simpler if it did.

* * *

It's what only seems like five minutes later when Bellatrix comes to collect Ron.

She sweeps into the room, one thin, pale hand resting on her hip, the other clutching her wand, pointing it at Ron.

'Time's up, Weasley,' she says, her words clipped. 'Come along.'

I watch in silence as he allows her to escort him from the room.

He doesn't say anything in a manner of a 'goodbye', but as he leaves, he most definitely smiles at me.

I take that smile, and I use it to light a flame under my heart.

The door shuts behind them, and I find myself alone once again.

I sigh, pressing my cold fingertips to my eyes. I'm so tired. Perhaps I could go to bed early…

_And go without sleep, like you always do._

'Did you do as I asked?'

My hands drop from my eyes so quickly it's as if my fingers have turned to stone.

I know that voice. I know it as well as my own.

I stop breathing just so that I can hear what he's saying.

'No.' Bellatrix's reply is short and clipped and uncaring. 'I forgot. Sorry.'

'For god's sake, my order was perfectly simple-'

'What does it matter if she's fed or not?' she snaps. 'I doubt we'll be needing her around for much longer, anyway.'

A long silence.

I know exactly how to take that comment. I can't believe Ron's optimism that I might be set free. I'm going to die. Not only that, but I'm going to die _soon_.

_Not necessarily._

Yes, necessarily. I've got to accept it. Lucius himself will have to do it.

_And do you really think he'll be able to do that?_

'Perhaps,' Lucius mutters.

Bellatrix gives what sounds like a derisive snort.

'What are you staring at, Weasley?' Lucius asks quietly.

My heart stops and starts.

'Nothing,' Ron replies sullenly. 'Nothing.'

And so I breathe again.

'See you at dinner, then, Lucius,' Bellatrix says coldly.

'I look forward to it,' Lucius replies, his voice an icy breeze.

Two pairs of footsteps move off down the corridor.

It's a long time for me to wait. I wait and wait for almost five whole minutes straight, waiting for him either to walk away or come back to me…

The door clicks, then swings open.

My heart leaps a thousand feet as he steps into the room, refusing to deflate even as I take in his rigid expression.

I can't help it.

His eyes rest on my upturned face for the briefest of moments, before he turns and points his wand at my bedside table, conjuring up a plate of food – a sandwich, a bowl of soup, a glass of pumpkin juice, a piece of bread and what looks like a tiny bit of jam.

I don't think he's ever given me so much to eat before. Usually it's just some bread and soup, a piece of fruit if I'm lucky…

His eyes rest on my face again.

'You need to eat,' he says curtly, before he turns to leave again.

'Wait!' I say quickly.

He exhales sharply before he turns to face me again, his lips a thin line.

His eyes rest of mine, and it's like a physical pain.

'Yes?' he asks, his voice clipped.

I open my mouth, but my throat closes up and I can't make any words leave it. Not that I know what to say, anyway.

He raises an eyebrow at me. Cold. Frozen. Just like he used to be, once upon a time.

But whether it's a front or not, I don't know.

He lets out a sigh and turns to the door.

'Well, if you've got nothing to say, then I've no reason to stay here, so-'

'No! I mean…' My face flushes with heat. 'You've… you haven't been here for a while.'

For a long while he doesn't turn around.

I shift my bare feet, rubbing one against the other nervously.

He turns to face me eventually, his expression blank and unreadable.

'It's what we decided, Mudblood,' he mutters. 'It's over between us. Or have you forgotten that already?'

'_You _decided!' I say hotly. 'And no, I haven't forgotten. I just didn't know that you'd forbidden yourself from even _seeing _me.'

His mouth twists and his head rises, as if he's preparing himself for battle.

'Try not to be such a child,' he says, his voice like a cruel, cutting knife. 'You don't need me to look after you.' He pauses. 'You never did.'

That last statement came as little more than a murmur, but I don't even give myself time to think about what it could mean before I reply.

'I don't want you here so that you can _look after me_!' My voice shakes with indignance and something deeper and far more painful. 'I don't even want you for… for…'

I blush right to the roots of my hair. His expression doesn't alter at my words, but as he takes in the change in my face his eyes seem to flicker, just for a moment.

I swallow, and pull myself together. 'I just don't… I don't want you to ignore me!' I burst out.

He narrows his eyes. 'Once you would have done anything for me to ignore you,' he says quietly, his voice the polar opposite to mine. 'You asked me over and over again just to leave you alone. What is it that's changed, Mudblood?'

He curls up a tiny smirk, but it's forced, I know that it is. I know because of the look in his eyes.

'Would you prefer that things could be the way they used to be, once again?' he mutters. 'Perhaps then you'll welcome some indifference on my part.'

I shake my head. His words haven't shocked or frightened me. I know him too well for that.

'I almost preferred your hatred,' I whisper. 'At least then you didn't ignore me. At least then I knew I must have meant _something _to you.'

He almost recoils – as if I've slapped him in the face. He looks angry. Very angry.

'What do you want me to do?' he hisses. 'Do you want me to carry things on with you, and to put both our lives on the line? We're walking a fine enough tightrope as it is. This is necessary to save our lives – why can't you see that?'

'But…' I stutter, desperate for him to understand. 'I don't know why you have to ignore me! You could still come to _see_ me - even if it's just to hurt me, I don't care-'

His hand closes suddenly around my throat and he wrenches me towards him, his fingers digging in to my skin, bones, muscles, veins…

He draws in a breath, his lips settling in a firm line.

'Believe me, you make that idea all too appealing, sometimes,' he says venomously.

I breathe heavily, staring up into his face.

He reaches out, trailing his fingers down his face, his eyes darkening, and for an agonising moment I can hope once again…

But he pushes me away from him furiously.

'Just forget it all, Mudblood,' he says. 'That's all I'm asking of you.'

'All you're asking of me!' I say incredulously, massaging the back of my neck. 'You bastard, you've no _idea _of what you're asking of me – of what you've _always _been asking of me!'

Silence. A long, horrible silence, full of unspoken words and gut-wrenching pain.

His gaze is horribly dark.

'You can't just pretend none of this ever happened,' I say, my voice paper thin. 'You've always tried to do so, but you can't. You might want to murder the past. God knows, I do, after what you did to my parents. But it can't be done, Lucius. You… you _fucked _a Mudblood.'

He frowns at me, radiating hate for just a brief moment.

But I don't care. He can face up to what he's done.

'And I won't let you deny it,' I whisper. 'You can end what we have – I know full well why you did it. But I won't let you ignore me like I've never meant anything to you – like I don't _still _mean something to you.'

He sneers. 'Whoever told you that I _still _care about you?' he drawls, claiming a brief triumph.

I just smile, though I can find no joy in it.

'You'd still let yourself see me if you didn't,' I mutter. 'But you just don't trust yourself, do you?'

He draws in a deep breath, failing completely to suppress the anger on his face.

'Really?' he murmurs, his voice dangerously quiet. 'You're ever so perceptive, Mudblood. You really must let me know how you do it, sometime.'

He turns to leave.

'No, wait, please!' I reach out and grab his shoulder.

He turns to face me again, his eyes cold slits of rage. He grabs me by the arms and shakes me.

'What in God's name do you want from me?' he whispers.

_What do I want? I want you to come back. I want you to suffocate me again. I want your pain, your hate, your fear. I want you to hold on to me and never, ever let go..._

_I want you to love me back._

But of course, I can't say any of that. And so all I say is-

'I don't know.'

He smirks bitterly and shakes his head.

'Nor do I,' he mutters, before he releases my arms and turns sharply away from me, leaving the room and locking the door behind him.

I gulp in a deep breath and I press my fingers to my mouth, walking over to my bed slowly.

_Come back, please. I can't _breathe_ without you. _

I sit down on the edge of my bed, tears swelling up in my eyes, thickening my throat.

Perhaps he almost enjoys this. Perhaps this has always been his plan - to make me rely on him. Perhaps he enjoys knowing that I'm trapped forever in his hold, that he would only need to snap his fingers and I'd come crawling back.

Once upon a time, I would have been able to believe that. But I know, I just _know _that he can't possibly be enjoying _this…_

A small rumble of nausea trembles in my stomach. I wince, rubbing at my tummy slowly.

I've got to ignore it. If I ignore it, then maybe it'll go away.

_W__hy_ won't he come back to me?

_To keep you safe, Hermione._

But why? He's the most selfish man I know. He didn't let me end it when I desperately wanted to, just because _he_ didn't want to…

And he didn't want to end it when he did, I know that he didn't.

If he's putting himself through all this just to save me, then that must mean…

_It means he's learning. _

I suck in my breath as my stomach grumbles and churns, and a small spasming twinge kicks me in the gut… oh god, not again.

I stand up, breathing heavily with nausea. But even to breathe makes me feel sick – the sheer taste of air makes me want to vomit.

I close my mouth, trying to force it back down, as if just by stopping myself from vomiting I'll make this entire situation go away.

But I can feel it bubbling up in my gut, up through my chest, and I clap my hand over my mouth as I run instinctively into the bathroom and fall onto my knees in front of the toilet. Food and water and acid tumble out of my mouth, burning my throat, my chest, my mouth, and I heave and heave and then it's all over.

I sit back on my heels, resting my head against the cold rim of the seat.

I draw in deep, deep breaths, relishing the lack of nausea. It's over now…

_Until the next time._

There might not be a next time.

_There always is, these days._

I pick myself up from the floor, flushing the toilet, watching the wasted food swirl away to be replaced by clear, clean water.

If only everything could disappear so easily.

I walk over to the sink, my entire body heavy and numb, and the empty, hollow feeling deep inside my gut is nothing to do with the fact that I've just thrown up, I know it isn't.

_Empty? Hollow? Strange choice of words._

I squeeze my eyes shut involuntarily. I won't think about it. I won't.

I open my eyes and absentmindedly brush a stray lock of frizzy hair behind my ear. Without thinking about what I'm doing, I reach for my toothbrush, squeezing some toothpaste onto it with shaking hands.

_You can't ignore it forever._

Watch me.

I furiously scrub away at my teeth, trying to remove to putrid taste of vomit from my mouth. I brush the way my parents used to tell me to when I was little - the front teeth, the bottom teeth, the canines, incisors, and molars; each and every side of them, and then my tongue.

I brush and brush until my gums bleed.

I mustn't think.

I can't _let_ myself think.

I've got to focus on brushing my teeth. Front, back, sides. That I get my teeth clean is the most important thing right now.

I will not allow myself to think about what's been nestling in my mind like a tumour for a few days now.

But how can I _not _think about it?

Oh god, oh my god, what am I going to do?


	39. Destruction

'_My mind misgives some consequence yet hanging in the stars shall bitterly begin his fearful date with this night's revels, and expire the term of a despised life closed in my breast by some vile forfeit of untimely death. But he that hath the steerage of my course direct my sail!' _William Shakespeare, _Romeo and Juliet_

* * *

Nobody needs to know. Nobody ever needs to know.

_I thought you weren't going to think about it._

Oh, if only not thinking about it would make everything go away! If only I could hide away under my bedcovers and wait for the daylight to come, like I could when I was nothing more than a little girl who was scared of the dark.

If only, if only. You should never say 'if only', that's what my dad used to say.

I don't _have _to think about it. If I don't ever mention it to anyone, not even myself, then no-one ever needs to know.

_Don't be so stupid. They're bound to find out in the end. It'll be all too bloody obvious._

Not if… not if I die first.

_So you're hoping for death now, after everything you've come through?_

I didn't mean that. But… well, that's what's going to happen in the end, isn't it? Lucius is going to have to kill me to prove his loyalty to Voldemort. Not only that, but he'll probably have to do it soon.

_But you know that he won't do it. He _can't_. He's told you that already._

So what's he hoping for, then? That I can just make myself inconspicuous and that everyone will just forget about me and leave me alone?

My god - that must be what he's hoping for.

_Well, that little plan's not going to come to anything, is it? Soon you'll be all _too_ conspicuous._

What else can I do? I can't hide it, not forever.

But I can't… I can't tell him. I just can't.

_Have you stopped for a minute to think this might be the one thing that could save you?_

Save me? I doubt it. No, he can't ever find out. He'd kill me.

_He's already told you that he wouldn't kill you if Voldemort himself ordered him to do it. What makes this any different?_

It just… _is! _This is probably his worst nightmare come true.

And even if he doesn't kill me himself if (_when_) he finds out… we'd both be killed when everyone _else_ found out, I know it.

_So what do you want to do? Wait around for them to discover the truth before he does? He's your one chance of salvation._

But how could he ever get us out of this? He won't leave his place in Voldemort's ranks, I know that he won't. So how the hell is he going to save us this time?

_He'll save you, Hermione. He always does._

But… why would he, when he discovers what's happened?

_Because you're the only thing that's ever meant something to him._

That's not true. His beliefs – they meant the _world_ to him.

_And he gave them up for you. _

* * *

I slowly work my way around the table, pouring wine into every goblet I pass, barely even looking at the people I'm serving.

I got a good look at them all when Ron and I first served them dinner an hour ago. I don't need to look at them anymore. If I look at them they might see what I'm hiding. It might be written all over my face, for all I know.

I roll my eyes up and look very briefly at Ron as he pours out wine on the opposite side of the table. He doesn't look half-blind with rage like he did the last time we had to serve at a Death-Eaters' dinner party. His face just looks blank. The fight's gone out of him. This is just a chore for him to get through now.

It's my fault. It was me that tore the fight out of him. I was his hope, and I threw it back in his face.

I lower my head again, pushing my guilt down my throat and into my gut.

And I pour the wine. One goblet, two goblets, three, four, five…

My hearts stops as I see a pale, long-fingered hand resting on the smooth wood of the table in front of me. His hand - I'd know it anywhere.

I take a deep breath and pour the jewel-red liquid into his goblet.

_Breathe. Breathe, and don't look at him._

Somehow, despite my shaking hands, I manage to pour the wine.

But I can _feel_ his eyes on me. He's watching me, I can tell.

The hairs on the back of my neck prickle up, and to distract myself I turn my head to the side slightly.

Avery is sitting a few chairs down from Lucius. His eyes are resting on Lucius, watching him as he watches me…

His empty blue gaze flickers onto me.

I lower my head hurriedly, and I move on to the next goblet.

But I can see out of the very corner of my eye that Lucius is still watching me.

_Look away, for god's sake! Everyone's watching us, everyone knows, we can't hide it._

I meet Ron after a few more moments. We look at each other, nod, and wordlessly return to our bench by the wall, out of sight of everyone; hidden in the darkness.

We sit in silence for a long while, neither of us saying anything. It's not necessarily an awkward silence – although perhaps it should be considering everything that's happened between us.

Well… I don't know. It doesn't feel like an awkward silence to _me_. Maybe it does to him, but not to me. I'm just quiet because, to be honest, I don't have enough energy to keep up a conversation. I'm so _tired_.

_Well, that's hardly surprising, is it? People say it goes with the territory-_

'When do you think this thing's going to be over?' I ask quietly, more to shut out my own thoughts than anything else.

He sighs in resignation. 'Not too long, I shouldn't think. They'll have to leave before sunrise, at least, won't they?'

I turn to him with a tiny frown. 'Why?'

He looks at me. 'Well… the boat. They'll need to catch the boat to get home, won't they?'

'Can't you get it after sunrise?'

He shakes his head. 'It only runs at night. I thought you knew that.'

'No,' I mutter. 'Why does it only go at night?'

He wrinkles up his nose in thought. 'I dunno, I just heard Bellatrix tell Dolohov ages ago that it doesn't run in the daytime.' He pauses, apparently giving it some thought. 'It could be for extra protection, maybe? It'd be harder to see the boat in the dark, wouldn't it?'

I consider that for a second, before I nod. It makes sense, I suppose, and what reason would Ron have to lie? Besides, it would explain why I've only ever been over the river at night. Never seeing the sun. Never, ever to see the sun, ever again, ever. Except in my dreams.

'It's funny to think, isn't it?' he murmurs, looking out at the people in front of us. 'Of them going _home_, I mean. They must all have, like, _normal _lives aside from what they do for You-Know-Who. Homes, families, jobs…'

He trails off.

It's hard to think about, but you can't help it. That the people we're fighting against, the people who do such terrible things in their master's name, might have normal lives.

My gaze wanders along the table, desperately trying to avoid resting on Lucius. I can see his bright hair out of the corner of my eye, but I won't look at him, I won't look at him, I won't I won't I _won't…_

My eyes wrench themselves around almost of their own accord, coming to rest on Lucius once again.

He's still looking at me. Macnair's sitting next to him and talking to him animatedly, but he doesn't seem to be listening. He's just staring at me.

How am I supposed to tell him? I know that I have to, I know it, but… but how could I even _begin _to tell him? It would destroy him.

_Destroy him like he's destroyed you._

I slide my hand over my stomach.

Still he stares at me, looks at me with that old mixture of need and hunger and hatred, and… God, this is so dangerous. Anyone could see what's going on if they were to look at us. It's written all over our faces.

I wrench my gaze away from him, and sure enough, I can see Avery staring at me too. Looking at me with those horrible blank eyes of his, with the tiniest of smiles playing over his lips.

My blood clots up in frozen clumps, and I whip my hand away from my stomach.

'Are you alright, Hermione?'

Ron's voice. I cling on to it, and use it to pull my gaze around to face him.

'What's the matter?' he whispers.

I swallow. 'Nothing.' My voice shakes as I speak. 'Nothing.'

He looks at me for a few minutes before he turns and looks out at the dining table again.

'Bellatrix doesn't look too happy,' he mutters. 'Look at her. Bet you five galleons she's gonna flip.'

I follow his gaze, and sure enough, Bellatrix is glaring at Lucius, her black, furious gaze flickering occasionally between me and him, and quickly I lower my head, desperate not to give her any more reason to suspect…

_Any more reason to suspect? Soon she'll have only too much reason to suspect._

Oh Christ almighty, what am I going to do?

'I'm bored!'

The room goes silent at Bellatrix's sudden shouted declaration.

'Jesus,' Ron mutters, but I don't smile. Who knows what Bellatrix could look to for entertainment?

I look along the table. Draco's smiling slyly at his aunt. Lucius is no longer looking at me, but rolls his eyes at Bellatrix, who has risen from her seat and is staring around the room animatedly.

'Is our company not enough for you, Bella?' Avery drawls, smiling slightly as he raises his goblet to his lips. 'I am sorry. We shall try harder to keep you entertained in the future-'

She waves a hand at him. 'I never said you weren't entertaining in yourselves,' she says, a little too brightly. 'I just think we could find something to entertain us while we eat.'

A stone of dread sinks into my stomach as her glittering gaze comes to rest on me.

_No… no…_

What does she want? Some screams of agony to accompany her dinner?

But she doesn't say what I expect her to.

'I want some music.'

A small ripple of nervous laughter runs through the room, and a woman I don't recognise speaks up.

'Well, we could always charm some up for you, if you want-'

'Oh, for god's sake,' Lucius drawls. 'Do we have to pander to your every whim, Bella? Are you so unbelievably spoilt that you insist we interrupt our dinner for your entertainment?'

I find myself smirking.

A mistake. Her eyes rest on me again, and they harden.

The smile vanishes from my face and I start to shake. I turn my face frantically to Lucius, but he isn't looking at me anymore. He's glaring at Bellatrix with so much hatred he looks as if he would strangle her if they were alone.

But she doesn't notice him.

'I think the Mudblood should sing for us.'

I feel myself shrivel up inside. What… why?

Lucius frowns. 'What the hell for?' he says sharply.

She whirls around to face him. 'Why not, Lucius? Why not? I'm sure she has a _lovely_ voice.'

Quiet, tittering laughter runs through the room, and Bellatrix needs no further encouragement. She strides towards me, her walk unsteady, before launching herself on me and gripping at my arm, pulling me to my feet.

'Leave her _alone-_' Ron says, getting to his feet, but I shake my head at him. I don't want him to get himself hurt because of me again.

'Shut up, Weasley, unless you want me to crucio her instead,' she says dangerously. 'Who knows, that might almost be _more_ entertaining.'

Ron presses his lips together, his eyes moving from me to Bellatrix, who's panting with a huge triumphant grin on her face.

'Well?' she asks, her voice hard and hysterical.

Ron's face twists and he slowly lowers himself down onto the bench again.

'Ha!' Bellatrix crows, and I stumble slightly as I'm pulled across the room, and when she lets go of me I sway slightly where I stand, the sudden movement making my head swim and my eyes blur, and oh no, I don't feel good, not at all good…

I take a deep breath, and my vision clears itself up.

Lucius' slate-grey eyes are narrowed as he looks from me to Bellatrix. His face is set. He's angry, so unbelievably angry. Angry with _her_…

Bellatrix throws herself down into her chair, smiling and breathless.

'Well,' she demands, one eyebrow raised and her lips curved in a sadistic smirk, 'what are you waiting for? Sing!'

Oh god, this can't be happening. I can't do this, not in front of all these horrible people.

I swallow down hard, my lower lip trembling. 'Please, I can't-'

She claps her hands together, letting out a kind of high pitched squeal. 'Oh, she's so modest!' Her voice hardens. 'But you don't seem to understand me. I want some entertainment, and you singing for us would certainly be that. And what I want, I get-'

'Bellatrix,' Lucius cuts in, his voice a silver blade of warning, 'you don't need entertainment this badly. Leave the Mudblood be.'

But she ignores him, her eyes narrowing with rage.

'Sing! I said _sing!_' She bangs her fist on the table with that last word.

And I look at Lucius, who's frowning hard at Bellatrix, looking very much as if he's going to start shouting at her, and I know that I can't let him do that, it'd only raise suspicion, and oh god, please, strike me dead now.

I open my mouth, and somewhere from the depths of my humiliation I pull up an old song my mum used to sing to me when I was a kid, one that I might just be able to remember the words to if I'm lucky.

'In D-Dublin fair city, where the g-girls are p-pretty…'

Someone laughs.

I stop, lowering my head, a lone tear of pure embarrassment trickling down my cheek.

'That's enough,' I hear Lucius say sharply.

'Oh, come on, Lucius,' I hear a thick, slurring male voice I don't recognise. 'It's just a bit of fun.'

I clench my hands, pressing my fingernails into my sweating palms, and my head swims again, and oh, I don't feel good, not at all good, and I'm swaying…

'I don't see what's meant to be _fun _about public humiliation,' Lucius says curtly. 'All this will achieve is a cheap laugh for you and misery for her. It's unnecessary.'

'You've changed your tune, Lucius,' Bellatrix snaps back.

Oh god, shut up, shut up, shut _up_!

I sway heavily and I bring my hand up to my head, trying to pull myself together, but I look up and the room's spinning behind my hand.

'Oh, for god's sake, see how she's acting up?' Bellatrix asks. 'I'm sorry if I've upset you, itty bitty Mudblood.'

'Just shut _up_, Bella!' Lucius' voice is raised. 'You're just like a child!'

It doesn't register. Nothing registers. My head's numb and swimming and it's like I'm falling through water and I can't see…

The scrape of a chair.

'Mudblood?'

Lucius' voice is the last thing I hear before I keel over sideways and into darkness.

* * *

'…just leave her here. She's only fainted, she'll be fine-'

'No thanks to you. Just go back downstairs. I'll join you shortly.'

Darkness. Just darkness, and their voices.

But… warmth, too. Something soft under my back…

'You expect me to just leave you here alone with _her_? Don't make me laugh-'

'Oh, for god's sake, haven't you done enough harm this evening? Just get out and try not to make an even bigger fool out of yourself when you get back downstairs!'

I curl my fingers up, feeling familiar slightly coarse material under my palms. My bedcover.

'You _dare_ to talk to me like that?' she splutters.

'I'll talk to you any way I please.' He spits the words at her. 'You're nothing but a parasite.'

A pause.

My head's full of fog. It's drumming with a dull ache.

'We've got guests, Lucius,' she hisses. 'Do you want me to go downstairs and make a little announcement about just what you're up to with her? I'm sure they'll find it most entertaining – not to mention incredibly interesting-'

'Fine,' he snaps. 'Go ahead. But if you will insist on spreading your malicious lies amongst our friends, then I might find myself having a similarly _interesting_ conversation with my wife about what I used to _get up to _with _you_.' His voice strengthens into a confident drawl. 'You remember my wife, don't you Bellatrix? Your paths may have crossed, once or twice.'

For a moment all I can hear is her breathing, coming in sharp pants.

I want to open my eyes, but I keep them closed for now.

'Enjoy your little Mudblood whore, won't you?' she fires at him, before swift footsteps move across the room, then there's the creak of the door, and a slam.

I lick my stone-dry lips, but I still don't open my eyes. He's… he's _here_, alone with me for the first time in what feels like forever, and I don't want to shatter that.

A weight makes the mattress dip next to me, and I feel a hand (_his hand, I'd know it anywhere_) brush onto my cheek, pushing my hair off of my face.

I force myself to keep my breathing steady, which is no mean feat when your heart's beating at one hundred miles per hour.

I start to lace my thoughts together like beads, trying desperately to get them to make sense through all this fog that fills my brain.

_He's not doing all that great a job of distancing himself from you, is he?_

I don't want to open my eyes yet. As soon as he realises I'm okay he'll leave, I know that he will.

_So what if he does? Don't you want to keep the pair of you safe?_

Oh, who am I kidding? The pair of us will never be safe again. Not now.

Another hand slips into my own, which lies limp by my side. His fingers entwine with mine, holding onto them tightly. His thumb runs slowly up and down the back of my hand.

_Tell him._

I can't.

_He deserves to know, if nothing else._

He doesn't _deserve_ anything! He's a cold hearted monster.

_And yet you fell in love with him._

My train of thought is shattered when I hear his voice. So low, barely even a whisper-

'Is this what you used to try to tell me about, Mudblood?'

My heart races in fear, but… no, he can't mean… he can't mean _that. _He doesn't know about _that _yet, thank god.

So then what is it that he means?

What I used to try to tell him about? God knows what that could mean. There are so many, many things I've tried to tell him about, time and time again.

I wait, to see if he might elaborate on his meaning.

But he doesn't. He thinks I'm unconscious, after all.

Oh, this is stupid. I've got to stop pretending. He needs to leave. If he's here much longer it'll look so suspicious, and we can't allow that, not after everything.

And so slowly, ever-so-slowly, I open my eyes.

He moves immediately, looming over me, looking at me so closely it almost makes me go cross-eyed.

'Lucius?' I whisper.

His fingers tighten around mine so much it feels as if he's going to tear my hand off.

'I'm here, Mudblood.'

I almost burst into tears at those three words. Two of the most caring words in the world, combined with one of the most hateful. Isn't that just him all over?

For a long while we stay just like this – one of his hands on my face, and the other entwined in my own. Not saying anything, perhaps not even thinking anything. Just staring at each other.

My heart is beating so hard it hurts. Perhaps… perhaps this is the moment…

He breaks the spell eventually, which I find myself almost grateful for.

'Can you sit up?' he asks quietly.

I nod and I pull myself up to a sitting position. My head swims a little, but his hand is strong on my arm and I find myself sitting up with a perfectly clear head after a minute or two.

He looks at me, his eyes narrowed as he studies me.

'What happened to you down there?' he asks eventually.

_Tell him._

How can I?

I gulp. 'I don't know. I just went really dizzy, and… that's the last thing I remember.'

He raises his eyebrow.

I improvise hastily. I can't let him know what's really going on. Not yet. 'I used to get a bit faint sometimes when I was younger. It's nothing to worry about, really…'

Oh god, why am I such a coward?

His eyebrow raises a further millimetre. He doesn't believe a word I'm saying.

'If you're unwell, then I need to know about it,' he says, his voice perfectly still. 'I can help you recover, but first you have to tell me what's the matter with you.'

Unwell? I could almost laugh out loud.

Almost.

_Tell him._

I know. I know that I must. I've _got_ to. He needs to know – only he can protect me. Nothing else can now.

I take a deep breath, preparing myself to speak, but he beats me to it.

'You've got to eat more,' he says, before conjuring up a meal for me on my bedside table. A huge bowl of meaty soup, a big hunk of bread, an apple, and a slab of chocolate.

He looks straight at me.

'You haven't been eating enough.' He takes a deep breath. 'My care of you has been… lax, recently. If I have made you unwell, it is not what I wanted.'

We look at each other again for another few seconds.

'You should go back downstairs,' I mutter, keeping my gaze locked onto his. 'You don't want to spend any more time here than you have to. It'll only make everybody suspicious.'

A muscle goes in his cheek. 'I want to make sure you're alright first.'

Tears sting in my eyes. I press my lips together. He's risking everything just for me, once again.

Oh, _why_ do we have to be trapped here? Why can't we be free, both of us? It's what I want, and I know it's what he wants, deep down.

_Tell him._

'Am I really worth all of this?' I whisper. 'I'm just a Mudblood, Lucius. You never tire of telling me that. How can I possibly be worth all this trouble?'

He takes a deep breath, his lips settling into a thin line. 'It's just a dinner party,' he murmurs. 'It can wait.'

And that's all he says, but it tells me everything I ever need to know.

I feel my mouth twist.

'But can your reputation wait, Lucius?' My voice is a thread with fear. 'Your duty, your beliefs… could you really put all of those on hold for me?'

A line appears between his pale eyebrows as he frowns hard at me.

'What are you getting at?' he says, very, very quietly.

I sink my teeth into my lip.

I need to tell him. I need to. It's the only thing that might save me. And he's risked so much to help me this evening – how much more will he risk to save me now?

But how can I tell him? How can I even _begin_ to tell him?

_Opening your mouth and saying the words might be a good starting point._

He's going to kill me.

_You'll die either way – by his hand or by someone else's when they find out what's happened. You have nothing to lose and everything to gain. _

_Tell him._

'I'm… I…'

His frown deepens, and his whole face seems to be freezing, and for a moment I wonder whether I can see horror dawning in his eyes.

'_What_, Mudblood?' His whisper is so quiet I can barely hear it.

_Tell him._

I suck in a breath, and I throw all my hope up to the God I stopped believing in a long time ago.

'I'm pregnant.'


	40. My Choice

'_In old days there were angels who came and took men by the hand and led them away from the city of destruction. We see no white-winged angels now. But yet men are led away from threatening destruction: a hand is put into theirs, which leads them forth gently towards a calm and bright land, so that they look no more backward; and the hand may be a little child's.' – _George Eliot_, Silas Marner_

* * *

He stares at me.

His hand slides out of mine.

My insides are turning themselves to mush as squashy terror presses itself through my body…

And still he stares at me.

His face is rock hard. You might almost think I hadn't said anything to him at all. If you didn't look into his eyes.

They're… full of horror. All I can see is horror. Endless, limitless…

Oh god, what's he going to do?

Nothing, apparently. Just sit there are stare at me.

I shift uncomfortably, pressing my lips together. I want to say something, but what could I say, what could I _possibly_ say?

His eyes don't move from my face. He looks almost… desperate. As if he'd do anything to believe that I'm lying…

But he must realise that I'm not lying. He knows me too well to think otherwise.

I suck in a ragged breath, and when I speak my voice shudders with panic.

'Please, will you… just…' I clench my jaw with terrified exasperation. 'Will you either _blink_ or… just say something, for god's sake!'

His cheek twitches. His eyes are like granite slabs of fear. And I realize he looks more afraid now than I've ever, ever seen him. More afraid than when Draco found out, and more afraid than when we murdered Dolohov…

'Did…' He clears his throat. 'Did I hear you correctly?'

Oh, _why_ does he have to do this, why?

'You know that you did,' I say miserably.

He opens his mouth as if he's about to say something, but then he closes it again, his jaw setting hard for a few moments before he finally forces himself to speak.

'You're… you're certain?' he whispers.

I could tell him everything. I could tell him that yes, I'm certain, because I've thrown up on average twice daily for almost a fortnight now, because I keep getting dizzy and having headaches, because my stomach keeps cramping up like I'm going to get my period but although I've checked for it manically whenever I get the opportunity it hasn't come for ages and ages – what must at least be a month.

But I don't tell him any of this. All I say is-

'Of course I'm certain. I wouldn't be telling you otherwise, would I?'

He stands up from the bed very suddenly, looking at me like I've got two heads. Like I'm the most repulsive, disgusting thing he's ever had the misfortune of having before him…

He turns away from me.

I don't mind admitting, this isn't going quite as I'd hoped.

I don't know what I was hoping for. Perhaps in the deepest darkest recesses of my soul I was hoping that he would tell me everything will be alright, that he'll look after me, that he'll leave Narcissa and take me away from this place and look after me and the baby we'll have together, and of course it doesn't matter at all that it's a half-blood because I've taught him that blood doesn't really matter at all, and he'd tell me he loves me…

But when he turns back to face me with a look of absolute disgust and hatred, I know there'll be none of that for Hermione Granger.

'Oh god, what have I done?' he murmurs.

And suddenly anger hits me hard. He's looking at me like he hates me again, when just one moment ago, _one moment _ago he was holding my hand and telling me he wanted to look after me, and damn him, this is all his fault, anyway! He should have been careful.

I swing my legs off the bed and get to my feet.

He takes a step back from me. As if the impurity of my blood might be contagious. He's so pale he looks as if he's seen a ghost.

I feel myself snap like a twig.

'Don't you step back from me!' My voice cracks hysterically. 'It's not _my_ fault we're in this mess!'

The horror on his face is ebbing away to be replaced by anger.

'So it's mine, I suppose?' he whispers venomously. 'Yes, because this is exactly what I wanted, isn't it? A… a half…'

He cuts off, making a small choking noise. He can't even say it. He genuinely can't even bring himself to voice what he's created.

'You should have been more careful,' I murmur, feeling an unwilling blush creep across my cheeks. 'You should have taken steps to prevent it-'

'Steps?' He spits the word at me, and he shakes his head, breathing a hard, mirthless laugh. 'I forget how innocent you can be, Mudblood. There is no contraceptive charm. There never has been, and there probably never will be.'

I just stare at him.

'Why?'

It's all I can think of to say.

His eyes narrow. 'Why would there need to be?' he snaps. 'Diseases have magical cures, and pregnancies can be disposed of…'

He trails off, and his expression seems to relax, just a little.

A downwardly spiralling spin sinks through my stomach.

'Yes,' he murmurs. 'Yes.'

He turns on his heel and starts to walk towards the door.

'I will return later this evening,' he says, his voice curt and clipped, 'and I will bring with me means to dispose of this… this…'

He pauses as he walks, still unable to say the words, before his face sets firm and he continues to walk.

'Wait!' I say quietly, my voice shaking a little.

He pauses, exhales sharply, and turns to face me again with a face as hard as rock.

'What?' His voice is like a steel thread.

I feel myself flush with what I know is impending humiliation, but damn it, I have nothing to lose, and if I don't say this now, then I never will.

'I thought we m-might…' I stammer.

He says nothing. All he does is shake his head. A warning, a clear warning – _don't push me for something I can't give…_

No. He _can_ give it. He could if only he'd allow himself to.

I draw in a deep breath to the very bottom of my lungs.

'I… I don't really want to get rid of it,' I say in a huge rush. 'I though we could perhaps… you and me, I hoped we might…'

I trail off at the look on his face.

He just looks at me for a few moments, a world of what looks almost like pain in his eyes.

He closes his eyes and shakes his head. 'No,' he mutters, his tone final. He opens his eyes again, and his gaze locks onto mine. 'No.'

I press my lips together, feeling the first treacherous sting of tears in my nose.

'Why not?' I whisper, my voice catching with emotion.

He stares at me incredulously – as if I've just asked him why he can't just gouge out his own eyes, or why he can't just throw himself off a cliff.

'It's…' He struggles for a moment, before he finally manages to say the words. 'It's a half-blood. That's why we can't… why you can't keep it.'

I feel myself shatter. My soul has been ripped up through my chest. I feel winded and dizzy. After everything, _everything _we've been through, how can he…?

'But what does that _matter_?' Tears are easing their way out of my eyes and onto my cheeks now. 'Surely you can realize now, after everything, that blood doesn't really-'

I stop when he takes a swift step towards me, but he checks himself before he can reach me.

But it wasn't the movement that stopped my words. It was the look of blind rage in his eyes.

He takes a sharp breath through his nose, pulling himself together.

'Never speak to me like that again, never,' he says, his voice low and dangerous. 'It is an insult to me. I will not allow you to stand there and tell me that my whole existence has been a lie-'

'But it _has_, Lucius,' I hiss, my anger boiling over. 'Of course it has! You know this. How could it not be, when you've given up every principle you've ever held? But you can change it – it's not too late!'

And that's when he snaps.

He's right in front of me in two swift strides and he slaps me hard across the face – slaps me for the first time since Ron discovered what was going on between us.

I scream, more out of the injury to my heart than the one to my face, I think, and I fall to the ground. I jerk my head up to see him looking down at me with absolute horror and hatred, and for one terrifying moment I realise that he's about to kick me.

'_NO!_' I scream, clutching at my stomach, shielding it instinctively from harm. 'You can't… the _baby!_'

For a long moment it's like we're frozen in time. All there is is my haggard breathing and his face, which is arched with disgust, but there's a shadow in his eyes that most definitely wasn't there a moment ago…

But it disappears after a while, and then all there is is his rage.

He snarls before he reaches down and grips me by the arm, dragging me to my feet and across the room before slamming me against the wall, pinning me there by my throat. Small lights burst behind my eyelids and pain throbs through my skull.

'Listen to me, Mudblood!' he hisses, every word he says stabbing me in the heart. 'This… this miserable little half-blood brat is nothing to do with _me_! It does not warrant the title of '_baby_'. It is an abomination!'

I'm crying now. Properly sobbing because I feel so betrayed, and so let down, because I hoped… oh god, I hoped. Stupid, stupid, stupid, why can I never stop myself from hoping?

'It's your baby too!' I sob helplessly, and I can see the pity creeping into his eyes, but he forces it away to be replaced by a cold callousness.

'Oh, you think so, do you?' he whispers, with one of the coldest mocking sneers I've ever seen on his lips. He leans closer, close enough to kiss me, and I feel my heart spin in my chest, but instead he just brushes my hair away from my shoulder and whispers into my ear. 'Why don't you prove it?'

My blood runs cold at his words.

He pulls his head back from mine and his hand from my throat, and looks me straight in the eye with eyes as hard as stone. And I know that he knows that those words hurt me just as much as a cruciatus curse. He _knows._

'You're a monster,' I whisper, and he smiles with all the bitterness in the world.

'Indeed,' he mutters. 'I've never hidden that fact from you. You've always known what I am.' He locks his gaze onto mine. 'You knew what I was when you let me into your bed.'

My head falls forward, the tears coming thicker and faster down my face. But his fingers hook themselves into my chin and force my head up to face him once again as he looks searchingly into my eyes.

He takes a deep breath, sounding almost resigned.

'I will not change for you,' he says flatly. 'But I will not lie to you either, Mudblood. I do not want this… _this._' His features arch with distaste for a moment. 'I cannot pretend otherwise. It would be unfair to you.'

'Oh.' My voice can barely escape my throat. It's swollen up with misery. 'And _this _is _fair _to me, is it?'

He almost flinches at my words, but I force myself to carry on.

'You say you don't want this baby,' I whisper. 'But you wanted _me, _Lucius! You wanted me badly enough to go against everything you ever held dear!'

He shakes his head and turns his face from me.

'Look at me!' I say desperately.

And he does. He's no coward, after all. Hasn't he told me that so many times?

His eyes… I can't even begin to contemplate what emotions they contain. I'll never be able to understand them. It's like what ancient wizarding theologians used to say when they spoke about death and what might come afterwards – that it was too great a concept for us mortals to understand…

'You wanted what there was between us.' My voice is paper thin. 'I know that you did. You threatened to disown your own son over it. You killed Dolohov just to keep me safe. You held me night after night as I slept in your bed, so don't try to pretend that this baby can't mean something to you when it's a part of all of that – when it's come to be because of something you must have wanted more than anything else in the world!'

He starts to shake his head again, but I reach up and put my hand on his cheek, and he stops his movement dead.

'It's a part of you,' I murmur, feeling the sting of tears, 'and a part of me, too. Can't you see how wonderful that is?'

'You don't understand,' he mutters, reaching up and wrenching my hand away from his face. 'You've never been able to understand, though I've tried to tell you time and time again. Your blood, and my blood… they can't be mixed, why can't you see that? Do you know what kind of offspring that would create-'

'Something like _me, _Lucius,' I say passionately. 'My blood is worse than this child's would be, yet I'm the only thing you've ever been able to care about in the whole world.'

He stares at me, his gaze dark and unreadable, before he turns from me, leaving me standing alone in the cold.

'No,' he says, his voice very, very low. 'No. It cannot… it must be gotten rid of. It must.'

He turns very quickly and walks towards the door, not looking back at me as he leaves the room and slams the door shut behind him.

* * *

I have to wait for hours and hours for him to come back – the longest, most agonizing wait I can imagine.

He steps into the room, his expression completely closed. Like he's separate from the room. He needs to be distant for this. He needs to…

He's got a bottle in his hand. A small bottle made of deep blue glass, full of what looks like water…

But it's not water. I know that it isn't.

He looks at me. No, that's not right. He doesn't look at _me_. He looks at the spot just above my head.

'Come here,' he says curtly.

I just glare at him, and his face knots into a frown. He comes over to me quickly and grips me by the arm, pulling me across the room roughly.

'Will you… you're _hurting _me…' I stammer, but he pushes me roughly into the chair in front of my dressing table, slamming the glass bottle down on the table in front of me.

I stare at it. An entire life contained in this tiny little bottle…

I swallow down hard, and I look past it to the mirror in front of me.

I can see him behind me, reflected in the glass, but he's not looking at me. He's turned his face away, and all I can see is his profile. His expression almost looks… calm.

'It should take effect in under an hour,' he mutters. 'The rest of the house are asleep, and so no one should disturb you. If you were to take it now then it should be all over by morning.'

All over. If I take it now I'll be free of this… this…

Oh god, I don't know whether I can do this.

_Don't you want to save his life?_

Well of course, but… but I…

I gulp. 'Can't you…'

I trail off, not knowing if I want to finish that sentence.

I watch his face turn towards me in the mirror, his expression still closed.

'I can't force it down you, Mudblood,' he mutters, reading my thoughts, as always. 'The potion is charmed. Only the… only the mother can take it.'

_Mother._

I press my lips together, before I work myself up to speak. 'Will you stay with me?' I whisper.

A shadow passes over his face.

'No,' he murmurs. 'I don't…'

He trails off and turns to stride away from me swiftly, pausing only when he reaches the door.

'I shall return in one hour,' he says quietly, before he quietly leaves the room.

I know why he won't stay. I know. He doesn't want to see it happen. Alright, he might not want or care about this baby, but he cares about _me_, doesn't he?

What's he gone to do, I wonder? Has he gone to have a quiet glass of Brandy while I get rid of his unborn baby? Will he sit there in silence, wondering… or hoping…

I turn back to look at the bottle in front of me. It rests there on the smooth wood of the table, completely benign and utterly harmless to the eye.

Perhaps I should just drink it down now, in one, before I can have any time to think about it…

It's to save him, isn't it? And wouldn't I do _anything_ to save him?

But… but it's _his_ child. A part of him and a part of me.

His life or our child's. That's what it boils down to, isn't it?

He always wanted complete control of me. Well, I guess he's got his wish now, ironically. He's truly colonized me now. Now I'm carrying a part of him around in me. It's growing in my stomach…

No, not growing. It's not really a _baby_. It's too early for it to be a baby, isn't it? It's just a bunch of cells, really.

My hand slides over my belly. Does it feel any bigger than usual? More rounded?

I dig my nails into my stomach, ever so slightly, while with the other hand reaches out, curling my fingers around the cold glass bottle, flicking the stopper out of it with my thumb. It comes free with a hollow 'pop'.

I lift the vial to my lips, trying not to think of babies… of warm, plump, good-smelling babies…

My hand shakes, and before it reaches my lips I slam the bottle back down on the table.

I suck in a breath to the depths of my lungs.

I never thought I'd end up in a mess like this. This sort of thing happens to girls like Pansy Parkinson or Lavender Brown. Not to me. Not to Plain Jane goody-two-shoes swot Hermione Granger.

This is for the best, really. Lucius will die if people find out about this. And even if I survive and get myself out of this place, he'd never follow me. His pride wouldn't allow it. I'll have to go through the rest of my life with a baby holding me down. I'll never go to university, and there'll be no-one to help me, not now that my parents are dead. And everywhere I go there'll be whispers about the baby's father and who he might be, and I couldn't cope when they started to whisper Lucius' name…

It's all immaterial, anyway, because God knows, I'm never going to get out of here. Lucius isn't going to leave this place for me. I was stupid to hope for it, really.

I bite down hard on my lip, so hard I can taste blood as the tears burn my eyes again. Tears for what might have been… what _should_ have been…

Oh god, how did things come to this?

I look in the mirror. My pale, haunted face stares back at me, lit up waxy yellow by the dim candle light. Dead-looking. Lifeless.

How did I used to look? I can't imagine myself looking any different, now.

I stare at the mirror for what feels like forever, my eyelids drooping with tiredness. I'm tired, so tired. I want nothing more than to just fall asleep and to never, ever wake up…

_And I can see… I can see myself. I'm watching it from a bird's-eye view. I can see me, but not the _me_ I am now. I look tiny – no more than twelve years old…_

_I'm running through the Hogwarts grounds in my school uniform, my cheeks pink and my eyes gleaming with irritation. And I'm shouting 'Ron' in my very best teacher-voice. 'Ron, give it back, it's not funny!'_

_But there's laughter. Loud, uncontrolled laughter, and I can see Ron running away from me, and oh yes, I remember when this was. He'd stolen my 'Hogwarts: A History', and I couldn't catch up with him. _

'_RON!' I shout, and then more laughter mixes in with Ron's, and it's only then that I see Harry. He's laughing along with Ron, but he's quite far behind us. I can only just make him out, but I'm sure that it's him – I can see his shock of black hair and the glint of his glasses in the sunlight…_

_And then the scene… shifts, and… and I feel a jolt of shock when I realize that Ron's not Ron anymore, but a girl. A girl who might almost be Ginny, but it's not. She's a little older than twelve, with the same red hair and freckles and reckless laugh as Ron, running up ahead with the same copy of 'Hogwarts: A History' in her hands._

'_Give it BACK!' Am I'm not _me_ anymore, but a boy perhaps a year or two older than the girl, with the same bright ginger hair and smattering of freckles, and now it's his eyes that are bright with exasperation as his sister laughs at him…_

_But hers is not the only laughter I can hear._

_Harry finally catches up with the pair of them, only he's not Harry anymore. He's their brother – the older brother I couldn't see all that time ago, but who I can see clearly now._

_He's an athlete, like his little sister. His long limbs and easy striding run tell me that much. He laughs as he catches them; his face creased up with mirth… his pale face…_

_His features are sloping and fine. He has the bones of a true aristocrat. His skin is china-white, despite the summer sun, and his white-blonde hair whips off his forehead as he runs to catch up with his siblings…_

_He reaches his sister and he rugby-tackles her to the ground. She squeals and kicks her legs out, holding onto the book for all she's worth, but he wrestles it off of her with ease._

'_You bloody spoilsport!' she wails in mockery, and he laughs at her again as he hands the book to his grateful brother._

'_Don't be so bloody mean to him,' he says back, but he's still laughing. And as he laughs I notice his eyes. Not the cold grey steel I was expecting, but warm, dark brown. 'Now stop messing about, we've got quidditch practice.'_

'He_ hasn't!' she says as she pulls herself to her feet, and her red-headed brother sniffs disapprovingly._

'_I'd rather be studying than wasting my time on a broomstick-'_

_The scene fades from me as the three of them argue this point – a point that I myself would personally agree with, and I feel my heart swell inexplicably with pride and love…_

I start awake, jolting back to my senses so suddenly it almost hurts.

I stare into the mirror in front of me, and as I look into my eyes I realize I was looking into them just a second ago, only in a pale, sloping face surrounded by white-blonde hair.

The realization kicks me in the stomach.

I don't believe in divination. I've never believed that humans can see into the future…

But then I never believed in absolute evil, either. I never believed in giving up on what you believed in to save your own skin. And I never, ever would have believed that I could have fallen in love with Lucius Malfoy and fallen pregnant with his child…

So could I start to believe in divination now?

I look down at the bottle, which is now warm in my shaking hand.

I can't… I just _can't_, not now that I've seen what this strange bunch of forming cells in my stomach could become…

God help me. God help us both. I've made my decision, and it'll be the death of Lucius and I.

I draw my hand back and I throw the bottle across the room, and I watch blankly as the glass shatters and spreads across the stone wall, coming to land in shards on the floor.


	41. Ultimatum

'_Two words would comprehend my future -- death and hell: existence, after losing her, would be hell.' _– Emily Bronte, _Wuthering Heights_

* * *

And so I wait.

I curl up on the floor, huddling my bruised and bony knees up to my chin. Absent-mindedly I bite my bottom lip; gnawing at it continuously and relentlessly, not even thinking about what I'm doing until I taste blood on the tip of my tongue.

Cursing myself, I suck the blood off my swollen lip.

What does he imagine I'm going through right now, I wonder? Does he know exactly how that potion works?

How _does_ that potion work, anyway? We never studied it at school. Sex education was curiously lacking at Hogwarts. I always privately wondered why, but now taking into account the fact that magical contraception doesn't exist, I can't say I'm all that surprised.

It's ridiculous. Wizards and Witches always look down on muggles. Even the Weasleys do, to some extent. They think they're quaint. Cute. But ever so slow and backwards, without the means to keep up with the magical world…

But in their wish to ignore the muggle world, they lost out on all the achievements muggles have made. And so situations like this arise.

If I'd taken that potion, would I be in pain? Would there be blood? Would I be screaming and writhing while my stomach contracted in on itself and the baby tore itself out of me?

Or would it be painless? Would I feel nothing? Would I just feel my stomach turn over and then it would all be over quickly and relatively cleanly?

What is he imagining that I'm going through? Is it so terrible that he can't bring himself to be here with me? Would it just be too much for him to bear to watch? Is he really that much of a coward?

Or does he know that there's nothing really I need to be helped through? Does he know that the potion can't really cause me any pain, and it's something I'm perfectly capable of going through myself, because it's only a child, after all, so if there's no physical pain, then there's nothing I'll need to be helped through, not even any emotional turmoil?

Knowing him, I'd say the latter. He cares too much to let me go through any real pain alone, and seeing as he doesn't believe that children are deserving of affection...

He must know what the potion does.

A horrible thought crosses my mind then – has he had to do this before?

I squash that thought down. Sink it. Kill it.

It's not like he's ever spawned a half-blood child, anyway, so he wouldn't have had to get rid of anything for that reason. And he probably wouldn't give a shit if some nice, pretty pureblood girl had his child. After all, Draco doesn't mean anything to him. It's not as if any other kids he's had by accident are going to hold any emotional hold over him.

_His_ child. This child in my stomach, growing inside of me… it's _his_. It's part of him, and part of me.

The mere thought of something so monumental makes my head hurt. Makes me want to giggle and burst into tears at the same time.

_Your son._

No. I don't believe in divination. I don't. I _won't_. I stormed out of Trelawney's classroom after calling her a fraud, I refuse to believe…

But what if it _was_ a true vision, after all?

If it was, then… then it must mean that I survive this place, at least.

But it also means that Lucius won't be a part of my life if I get out of here. If the other two children with that boy were his brother and sister, then they didn't look anything like him. They didn't look at all like Lucius. They didn't even really look like _me._

_No. They looked like Ron, didn't they?_

Without even thinking about what I'm doing, I let my mind wonder back to the life I used to imagine I'd like with Ron. What I'd allow myself to think about in the darkness of my dormitory, when the lack of light would hide away my blushing face.

I was a girl. Despite the books and braces and need of a hairbrush, I was still a girl. And like any teenage girl, I liked to think about the future I could have with the boy I was certain was the love of my life.

We'd get together before graduation, I thought, and we'd date for a few years, only getting married after we'd both qualified for jobs and we had some decent money coming in. Ron would become an Auror like he'd always wanted, and I'd go for a job in the Ministry, possibly promoting Elvish welfare – I'd always fancied that. And we'd buy a small cottage in the country, with apple trees in the garden and ivy growing up the walls. And we'd have children – two children, perhaps. A girl and a boy.

_You could still have all of that. Just take the potion._

It's a bit late for that now! And besides… I can't. Not now that I've seen what this baby might become.

And anyway, how could I, when it's the one good thing that might come out of this whole twisted mess?

_Redemption. Is that what you're thinking of?_

I don't know. Maybe.

But if those other children were Ron's, then… then Lucius can't be a part of my life, can he?

But then I suppose it means that Ron definitely will be, and isn't that what I've wanted all this time?

Oh god, how can I… how could I contemplate a future without Lucius, when he's been my whole world for what feels like forever, now?

No, I _do _want Ron to be a part of my life. I do. But I just…

_You want Lucius to be too. _

I give myself a sharp slap across the face.

I won't believe in it. I won't. I imagined what this baby could become, but I won't believe I genuinely saw his future. Your fate is what you make it, that's what I've always believed.

Besides, not even genuine prophecies are always fulfilled. Didn't Dumbledore tell Harry that?

The door creaks open, and clicks quietly shut.

I raise my head slowly, feeling my heartbeat break my ribs one by one.

His face is a blank mask. Unfeeling. Unemotional.

_Because he needs it to be so._

His expression doesn't alter as he takes me in, sitting curled up on the floor and staring up at him blankly.

He clears his throat.

'Have you…' He pauses, before shaking his head in apparent irritation. 'Is it done?'

I just look at him, not knowing what to say. How can I tell him something that would destroy him?

_Destroy him like he's destroyed you._

I'm not like him. I don't take relish in being the one to bring his world crashing down. Perhaps I should, but I don't. I _can't._

Not anymore.

-_before I die let me see Lucius Malfoy suffer. Let me laugh over him as he suffers at my feet. Oh god, let me see him in pain, and I will be grateful forever- _

To be honest, this wasn't what I had in mind when I uttered that desperate prayer. What I had in mind involved a lot more blood and numerous dark spells and his utter, utter humiliation.

Not… this.

'Well?' he asks tersely. 'Is it _over_, Mudblood?'

Unwillingly, I flick my eyes down to the floor to the right of him. His gaze follows mine, and his eyes widen as they take in the shards of broken glass, and the small, drying puddle that's spread out around it.

He takes in a few deep, sharp breaths as his temper explodes within him, and I pull myself to my feet quickly in preparation for what's to come.

He turns his face to me, and it's alive with… with…

At first I think it's hatred, but then I realise that it's only rage, which is easier to deal with. It's not _hatred _I can see on his arched features. I don't know whether he'll ever be able to hate me again, even when I've taken his life and his honour and torn it to shreds.

'What have you done?' he whispers harshly. 'You foolish, _foolish_ child, what have you done?'

My heart hardens at those words, and I find my mouth working without even really thinking about it.

'I'm not a _child_, Lucius,' I say, my voice like flint. 'You above all people should know that.'

A flash of something crosses his face, then. Rage again, maybe. Or guilt. I'm young, after all. Far too young for him, and I don't think he can ever forget that.

His hand flexes down by his side.

'What in the name of hell do you think you're _doing_?' he hisses, his temper boiling over. 'Why on _earth_ would you choose to keep this abomination alive?'

I swallow down my rage and pain, and I force myself to speak.

'I couldn't do it, Lucius,' I say, my voice firm. 'And just for the record – it's not an abomination. This is your child you're talking about.'

He curls his lip up in distaste and he strides over to me, grabbing my shoulders and shaking me hard.

'For god's sake, do you realise just what the consequences will be if you keep it alive?' he says rapidly, urgently. 'I have never believed you to be stupid, but now you prove yourself to be just as brainless as the rest of your muggle peers-'

I reach up and I wrench his arms off of me as my anger threatens to take me over.

'I realise _exactly_ what the consequences will be, you bastard!' My voice rises unsteadily. 'If Voldemort finds out about it he'll realise immediately just who the father is, and he'll kill us both. Believe me; I've had time to think about this in acute detail over the past few weeks.'

I pause, getting my breath back.

'But I can't do it,' I murmur. 'I tried to, I almost _wanted_ to, but I can't. Not when it's a part of me, and… and of you.'

He just glares at me. 'How like you to be over-sentimental,' he mutters. 'It's just a baby. They're hardly worth the trouble they cause. Believe me, I know.'

'But this isn't a baby that was brought about by a loveless marriage of purely social motive,' I say, my voice shaking. 'You know what it was born out of!'

My voice is really shaking with emotion now, and I don't know why I said that at all, but damn him, this came to be despite everything that was against us, and I won't believe that none of this means anything to him, not after everything that's happened.

He takes a deep breath, his mouth thinning out, and when he speaks his voice is a thread.

'I don't…' He trails off as almost instinctively I reach up and lace my fingers over his cheek.

'Lucius, don't you _know_ what you are to me?'

For a moment he looks as if he's going to reply. His expression is so strange. He looks as if he half wants me to speak, and half wants to smash my head against the wall before I can say any more. His eyes blaze with something so intense it's utterly indefinable, and for a moment I wonder whether he's going to lower his lips onto mine again.

But instead he closes his eyes in what looks like absolute agony, before he reaches up and wrenches my hand away from his face.

'What do you want me to do?' he asks, opening his eyes. 'Do you want me to die for you, is that it? You said once that your only wish was that you could live to see me die. Is this your final act of revenge then, Mudblood?'

Pain churns through my chest like vomit.

'No,' I whisper. 'Of course it isn't. You know that it isn't.'

'Well it seems to me that it is,' he says harshly. 'You've made your choice. My life or your child's. You've chosen the latter.'

'But…' I say desperately. 'But surely it doesn't have to be this way! There are other options for us-'

'Like _what, _exactly?' he asks, his eyes narrowed.

I swallow down hard, and I decide to be rational. Logical. Try to be like the girl I once was. The girl he ripped to shreds.

'As far as I can see, you have two choices,' I say, my voice firm. 'Either you can set me free, or… or you can kill me.'

My voice shakes slightly on those last few words, and his face seems to freeze as I say them.

We both stand very still, and my breathing comes ragged with fear, because he's claimed before he'd never be able to kill me, but that was before this cancerous, life-destroying weed was planted between us – this life in my stomach. The unborn child he wants nothing to do with.

For a moment, he really does look like he hates me.

'You expect me to set you free?' he asks coldly. 'Even though it would mean the death of me, you expect me to give you your freedom just because you're too stupid to realise that this… this _thing_ needs to be gotten rid of? Is it not enough for your unending selfishness that you've taken absolutely everything from me, that now you want me to give up my life for you as well?'

'_Me_, selfish?' I exclaim. 'That's rich, coming from you!'

He glares at me hatefully as I carry on speaking.

'Of course I don't want you to die for me,' I say shakily. 'If I thought you would set me free and stay here yourself to wait for Voldemort to kill you, I would smash my bathroom mirror and use the shards to slash my wrists before you could take one more breath.'

He gaze flares up at that. 'So you'd want me to come with you, then?' he murmurs. 'You'd want me to give up everything that's given my life meaning and come with you to raise this abomination together, would you? You'd expect me to set up house with a Mudblood and wait for the Dark Lord to track us down?'

For a moment I'm stung into dumbness, before I finally form a response. 'If the idea's so repulsive to you, then you don't have to come with me,' I mutter bitterly. 'You could go into hiding yourself-'

'What, and leave you to Weasley?' He laughs darkly. 'No doubt if he ever escaped this place he'd track you down in a heartbeat. He's so taken with the idea that he might _love_ you that I'd bet every galleon I have he'd do _anything _to keep you, even raise a Death-Eater's child.'

I take my hatred of him for his cold dismissal of Ron, and I use it to pull me forward.

'That's more than you'd do though, isn't it?' I fire at him. 'You might dismiss Ron, and mock him, but he obviously cares me for me than you ever could. You won't even come with me to raise your own child!'

He flinches as if I've physically hit him, but I carry on regardless.

'If you won't set me free, then you'll just have to kill me,' I say, almost simply. 'Because that's what it comes down to, Lucius. Either you give me my freedom and abandon your life here, or you kill me. God knows, I've had enough. I couldn't care less either way, because I can't live like this anymore.'

I walk up to him, and I take his hand in mine. His wand hand. His knuckles tighten around it involuntarily as I take it and point it directly at my heart, and look him straight in the eye.

'Well, go on!' I say, my voice strong because I'm past caring and I _will _end this, one way or another. 'Do it! You could end everything that ever was between us. Just put it behind you and move on. Find some pretty, pure-blooded girl to seduce and forget all about the Mudblood you once made a horrible mistake with. Kill me and kill all your guilt and hate with me. What are you waiting for? Do it!'

And for a moment, my world stops. Because for a moment his face sets hard, and I really think he's going to do it. He's going to say the incantation and end everything, end it all, and set us both free…

Did I freeze then for fear, or for sheer relief?

My heart thuds in my chest, and I stare into his eyes for so long I almost go dizzy. His gaze is too intense, too deep, too much, he's always been too much…

He pulls his wand hand back, snarling in rage, although whether at me or at himself or at both I can't tell.

'You know full well that I couldn't do that!' he hisses. 'How can you even suggest it, for god's sake? And do you really think I'd ever be able to forget you, after eerything?'

I draw in a huge gulp of air, feeling those words, those life affirming words, build up my strength.

'Well then why won't you come with me?' I ask desperately. 'Why won't you just leave all of this behind you? It doesn't _matter_ anymore – none of it does, why can't you see that? Just leave all of this misery and pain and death behind and come with me!'

He shakes his head, breathing a laugh filled with all the wretchedness in the world. 'How could I?' he mutters. 'This world is all I've ever known. How could I leave it when I've been fighting for it my whole life? When it's been the most important thing in my entire existence since the day I was old enough to talk?'

'And what about the world _we_ could have, Lucius?' I say, tears stinging my eyes. 'What about the home, the children, the _love_ we could have?'

I stop.

Oh god, did I really just say that?

For a moment he just stares at me with eyes that are black holes, before he grits his teeth in rage and turns from me with a muttered curse.

'Damn you to hell,' he mutters viciously. 'Why did you have to come along and complicate everything?'

My heart aches with his words, and I hate myself for loving him, but no-where near as much as he hates himself for all of this…

Could he… could he ever perhaps…

Could he ever love me back?

'I've seen him, Lucius,' I whisper, without really thinking about what I'm saying. 'Just now. I fell asleep, and I saw him.'

I see his shoulders stiffen. 'Who?' he asks, his voice a steel thread.

I summon up all the strength I have remaining, and I play the only card I've been left with.

'Your son,' I say, taking a tiny step forward. '_Our_ son. I dreamt of him – I saw him at Hogwarts. He must have been about sixteen or so, from the look of him.'

He sucks in a breath, before he shakes his head, still not turning to face me.

'Divination!' he says scornfully. 'The most useless branch of magic there is. The amount of wizards that have wasted their lives away over unfulfilled prophecies… even the Dark Lord himself-'

His words instantly die on his tongue as I reach out and grip at his hand, pulling it back and placing it flat against my stomach.

His fingers stiffen, but he doesn't pull his hand away. He allows it to rest there, his palm warm on my belly through the thin cotton of my robe.

He takes a sharp intake of breath, but he still doesn't turn to face me. And so I can't see his expression as I hold his hand over his unborn child. I can only guess – all I can ever do is guess…

'He looks just like you,' I say, my voice a hushed murmur. 'He's got your hair, your build, your skin tone. All of his facial features are yours, right down to the turn of his mouth. All except one-'

His fingers tighten so much on my stomach I can feel his fingernails through my robe, and he shakes his head.

'This means nothing to me,' he says. 'I already have a son, in case you'd forgotten.'

I take one more step and I stand of my tiptoes so I can put my hand on his shoulder.

'You've got a son with your eyes, Lucius,' I whisper. 'But _this _one's a part of me, too. And so his eyes were exactly like mine.'

I've hit a nerve. I know that I have. I know, because as soon as those words leave my mouth I feel him freeze, before he rips his hand away from my stomach and steps forward, away from me, still refusing to look at me.

'I will not…' he mutters, and I can hear the thread of desperation in his voice.

He brings his hand up and runs it over the back of his head.

'No,' he whispers harshly. 'No.'

He strides forwards and, without looking at me once, slams the door open and leaves the room, locking me in alone once again.

I stare blankly at the door, my throat thick with tears.

I almost want to pray, but I gave up on God when He gave up on me.

_Sorry, that number is no longer in service._

Blinking rapidly, I sink slowly down to my knees, cradling my stomach. When I reach the floor I lie down and curl up on my side, wrapping my arms around myself as if to cocoon myself away.

_Mum? Can you hear me? What should I do?_

I've tried this once or twice. I speak to my mum and dad in my head and try to persuade myself that they can hear me, and that they're watching over me…

But how could I talk to her about this? Even if she _could_ hear me, how could I ask her whether I'm doing the right thing by keeping the child of the man who murdered her as she slept in her bed, no doubt dreaming of her missing, beloved daughter, and having nightmares about what she must have been going through?

I close my eyes, and I start to cry. I just feel every emotion I've ever felt ever since I was captured bundle itself into a knot in my chest, and I cry out half-choked, barely formed sobs in an effort to push this knot out of me. All the fear, pain, need, hate, hope, love, despair…

'Mum!' I choke. 'Mum, please!'

God, I just want her to come back, just for a moment! Just to see her face and for her to hug me and tell me it's okay because she'll look after me and the bad man can't hurt me anymore, it's okay darling, go back to sleep, just a bad dream, shh…

'If you want your mother to hear you, you'll surely have to talk a lot louder than that.'

My sobs dry up in my throat.

I didn't hear anyone come in.

Slowly, I push myself up from the floor and turn my sore, aching eyes to the dark figure that stands in front of the closed door.

It's not Lucius.

It's Avery.


	42. Truth

'_Gentles, perchance you wonder at this show; but wonder on, till truth make all things plain.' _– William Shakespeare_, A Midsummer Night's Dream_

_I swear, by almighty god, to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help me god._

* * *

I stare at him, feeling the roar of my heartbeat in my ears, _thumthumthumthum…_

What does he want? What's he doing here?

_Nothing. It's probably nothing. Calm down. _

Calm down? Calm down? For Christ's sakes-

_He doesn't know anything's happened, does he? He doesn't know anything's changed. Be calm._

No. No, he doesn't _know_ anything. Not really. Not yet.

Focus. Focus on the breathing. In. Out. _Thumthumthum-_

'Why are you crying?' His voice is like a quiet music box.

'I'm crying because I miss my mother,' I say bitingly. 'Not that I expect someone like _you_ to understand that.'

He raises his eyebrows. 'Please don't make assumptions about me,' he says mildly. 'I missed my mother when she died.'

My eyes narrow slightly. He smiles.

'I suppose in the sort of circles you're used to mixing in there's a common misconception that Death Eaters don't have mothers. That we simply spring out of the ground as vicious, soulless killers.'

'Of course there isn't!' I say indignantly. 'We're not stupid-'

'I wouldn't dream of suggesting you were,' he replies, a tad too politely. 'But you have to admit, it does make one's life easier not to have to imagine that even your greatest enemy has been the recipient of a love as unconditional as a mother's.'

I set my jaw firm. 'I don't think it's something we give a lot of thought to-'

'Of course it isn't,' he replies smoothly, 'because that would be too _inconvenient_, wouldn't it - to imagine that we might possess any human feeling.'

_I know every human feeling Lucius holds, you bastard. I created them within him in the first place._

That's what I _want _to say, but I don't. I just glare at him.

'So yes, I had a mother. As did Bellatrix, as did the Dark Lord.' He pauses. 'As does Draco. You've met Draco's mother, haven't you? A charming woman, I have to say.'

Fear slaps me hard across the face with its icy palm, but I don't lend myself to it. Not completely.

Not yet.

I can't afford to lose control.

I bite the inside of my cheek.

He takes one step forwards. One step. No more.

'Even Lucius had a mother once,' he says, throwing the remark away as if it were nothing but watching me a little too closely for my liking.

I blink, and I clench my hand down by my side, hidden in the folds of my robe.

'But all of this is beside the point,' he says, and for a moment I breathe once again. 'I asked you why you were crying.'

I shake my head, and when I speak my voice squeaks in exasperation. 'I told you, I miss my mother! You just said that when your mother died-'

'I said that I missed her, not that I cried for her,' he says promptly. 'For what good would crying do? I would not bring her back, not for a moment.'

He curls up the smallest of patronizing smiles. 'But you needn't worry, Hermione,' he says, his voice as mild vanilla ice-cream. 'I can concede that your behavior is not unusual, given your circumstances.'

I really, really wish he wouldn't call me Hermione. _Mudblood_ would almost be better, coming from him.

'Besides,' he goes on, 'pregnancy is known to cause the most extreme mood swings. Perhaps that's why you're finding it hard to keep your emotions under control.'

Oh… oh god.

It's like he's shoved a lump of ice down my wind pipe, down and down into my lungs.

Oh _god._

No. No. No.

It's like there's an ear-shattering siren of _No _blaring in my head. I can't even hear myself breathing, because fear has stopped it completely.

And all he does is smile that horrible insipid smile.

I gulp in a huge breath before I start to sputter out desperate words. 'I don't know what you're talking about-'

'Oh, I think you do. I've become adept at identifying the signs over the years. After all, my wife and I have had three children. Yes, I have a wife,' he says, smiling at my expression. 'It's not so unbelievable, is it? Your captor himself has a wife, does he not? Surely _that _must be harder for you to comprehend, after all he's done to you.'

_Jesus Christ. Oh god, please, strike me dead now._

It might be alright. It might be… it's _got_ to be…

'Anyway, when she was expecting she behaved a lot like you have been doing recently,' he says, almost conversationally. 'She'd cradle her stomach almost excessively, just as I've seen you doing. And she often felt faint, too. Not that she ever actually _fainted_, but your circumstances were a little extreme, I grant you.'

I can't think. I just can't _think_. My eyes flicker desperately around me. The door, Avery, the bathroom… oh god, how could I escape this?

But even if I _could_ escape… he already knows, doesn't he?

Without even thinking about what I'm doing I turn and I run, run towards the bathroom, because if I could perhaps barricade myself in there then I might be able to wait until Lucius comes back and help me, and my feet slap on the floor and I'm so close to the door, so close…

But something hooks itself into my back and I'm pulled backwards, and backwards, and I slam into stone and all the breath is knocked out of me as pain blares through my skull in a shriek of agony. I try to shift, but I'm stuck to the wall, and oh god, shit, what the fuck am I going to do?

He steps in front of me. Not touching me. Not even coming very close. Just staring at me and still smiling that bloody bland smile.

'Just leave me _alone_!' I shout desperately. 'You don't have any right to do this to me!'

'Oh, and there was I thinking we were having a perfectly pleasant chat,' he says mildly. 'Honestly, Hermione, I'm _happy _for you. Children really are what make life worthwhile-'

'I'm _not_ pregnant!' I hiss furiously. 'I don't know where you got this ridiculous notion from, but you're sadly mistaken, I'm afraid.'

He looks me straight in the eye, and before I can even register it I feel an invisible hand sneak into my mind and snatch at it… oh god, oh god…

'Yes, you are,' he says, and for the first time I can hear a hint of iron in his voice. 'Don't take me for a fool, Hermione. And don't lie to me, either. I don't like it.'

I shut my mouth like a trap and I close my eyes. He doesn't know for certain who the father is, and I'm damned if I'm going to help him find out.

But I feel my eyes being ripped open by invisible force and my gaze wrenched onto his, and I have no option but to stare into his eyes…

Lucius never forced my eyes open. Even _he_ drew the line at this kind of invasion.

'Just leave it, please, for god's sake-'

'_Silencio!_'

And so now I can't even speak. Fantastic.

'If you aren't going to be polite to me, then you force me to keep you quiet,' he murmurs. 'You should be aware that I can't stand bad manners, particularly coming from one of such inferior birth as your own.'

I bite down on my already sore lip, and I feel blood seep out under my teeth.

He takes no notice whatsoever.

'Now what I want to know is – whose is it?' he drawls. 'Because as far as I can see, there are only a few possible candidates for that…ah, _honour.'_

No. No. Ohmygodohmygod NO!

I try to think of anything, _anything _else. I won't think of Lucius, of anything to do with him, I won't won't won't…

'Not _mine_, certainly,' he says, his voice laced through with his light, musical laugh. 'Even if it weren't for your unworthy blood, I must confess I hardly think you'd be worth the effort. Forgive me, my dear, but you're hardly a beauty, are you?'

Lucius said that to me once…

No. I can't think about him. Both our lives depend on it.

His mouth curves up into a tiny sadistic smile.

I wish he'd let me close my eyes. They're really, really starting to sting.

He raises an eyebrow and cocks his head to one side, as if he's considering something. As if he doesn't know exactly what's going on and what he's going to discover for certain already, bastard, bastard, bastard…

'Draco's a possibility, of course,' he remarks. 'He went to school with you, didn't he? Tell me, were the seeds of romance planted amongst the textbooks? I wonder what his father would have thought of that – his own son and heir falling for a filthy little Mudblood?'

I feel my face burn. He knows. He _knows _already – why is he putting me through this?

Besides… Draco? The mere thought of it makes me feel like my skin is crawling with lice.

And as his mind creeps into mine, just for the briefest of moments, I catch a tiny smirk from him.

'No, I didn't think so,' he says softly. 'And somehow I doubt very much that Draco would have enough backbone to take what he wanted from you by force. That's to say if he ever _did_ want you in the first place, which is something I highly doubt. You should hear the things he says about you, Hermione, really…'

My eyes are stinging so much they're welling up painfully, but he doesn't allow me any respite. How am I going to get out of this? We're finished, Lucius and I – completely finished. No family ties, no dark secrets – just like Lucius has said, there's no reason at all why Avery should keep this secret for us.

'So just who does that leave, then?' he drawls, and I can see that dark light I've seen in his eyes only once before – that horrible, horrible time he tried to make Ron rape his own sister.

My watering eyes start to spill over onto my cheeks, and his emotionless smile widens.

'Now, now, there's no need to cry,' he says, his voice high and quiet and falsely soothing, and I want to scream at him just to let me blink, just once, but I can't, of course I can't. I can't even look away from him.

He reaches into his pocket and takes out a delicate handkerchief, which he folds neatly and uses to carefully wipe my tears away.

I want to flinch, but I can't.

He smiles. 'Tears are quite unnecessary, Hermione,' he says in a manner which coming from anybody else might almost be amiable. 'I'm sure that young Ronald Weasley will make a wonderful father. He has the right temperament for it, after all. Good humoured, patient… yes, I'm sure he'll do very well.'

I almost choke on my own surprise. Ron… could he really believe that Ron is the father?

I doubt it. But… but then why…

'Ah,' he says, raising an eyebrow by a fraction. 'But your thoughts here become a little… blurred.' He smiles, his cold, empty eyes boring into my own. 'You wish it _were_ Weasley's child, but… but it's not, is it?'

He breathes out what might be a disbelieving sigh. I don't know what it is. I don't know _him._

'Strange,' he murmurs. 'It _should _have been his - that's what your thoughts are telling me. But they're also telling me as clear as day that it most definitely _isn't_ his.'

And he smiles again, but this time… this time it's genuine. His eyes aren't blank anymore. They're lit up with real joy.

'_Finite!' _he mutters, flicking his wand at me. I don't fall from the wall, and my eyes are still open, so I must be able to talk, but… but what can I say?

'So, if it's not mine, it's not Draco's, and it's not Weasleys, then whose could it be?' he drawls, smiling as he looks me straight in the eye. 'Would you care to name him for me?'

I stare at him desperately. I can't think of anything. All I can see in my mind is Lucius. Lucius discovered, Lucius humiliated, Lucius dead…

He breathes a tiny laugh, and I feel my eyelids fall free as I fall away from the wall. I collapse onto the ground, dizzy and shaking. I'm going to throw up, I need to throw up, I'm going to die, oh god, help me, help _us_…

His fingers hook into my chin. His nails, longer than Lucius', dig into my skin as he violently forces my head up.

When I see his face I almost sob in sheer terror.

It's not the expression. I've seen that kind of fierce, savage triumph on other faces countless times before. It's because for once his face is alive. His blank, cold face is alight with triumph because he's finally done what he was sent here to do. Duty is all that matters to Avery, that's what Lucius told me once before. And now his duty has been done. And so his usually blank face is so transported with triumph that it's almost as if he's been given the keys to heaven itself.

'_Name him!_' he says, his voice harsh and in this moment untamed.

I can't… I just can't. It's over. I've reached the end. _We've_ reached the end. Honest to god, forever-and-ever-amen. It is over.

I shake my head, my eyes spilling over.

He takes in a breath, and as he lets it out he closes his eyes, almost as if he's sighing in sheer relief, and when he opens them again his expression is just as calm and blank as it ever was.

'Your silence is golden, Hermione.'

I snap. Without even thinking about what I'm doing, I reach forwards and grip at the front of his robes.

'I beg you, for the love of god-'

He pulls his robes out of my hands and stands up, looking only mildly surprised.

'Why, whatever for?' he asks softly. 'What have I done here, apart from try to get to know you better?'

He smiles, and crouches down in front of me. I stare at him blankly as he reaches out and runs the back of his finger down my cheek. I flinch and draw my head back, feeling my eyes melt into fresh tears.

He sighs quietly and stands up again. 'You're a strange child, Hermione,' he murmurs. 'I've been watching you ever since I arrived here, trying to figure you out. And I have to admit that I have often thought you quite… unremarkable. A plain-faced, silly little thing that drank all of our wine and made quite a spectacle of herself the first night I arrived here.'

I bring my hands up to my temples, pulling at my hair in an attempt to make it all go away.

'I confess, I have often found myself assuming that the Dark Lord had made a mistake,' he goes on. 'Whatever would Lucius Malfoy – proud, ruthless aristocrat Lucius Malfoy – want with a clumsy, awkward, silly little Mudblood?'

I raise my face, feeling anger welling up in me like red-hot lava.

He raises his head, looking down on me with what could only be described as mild interest.

'But I had a duty to do,' he says, and there's a low, dark current of pride in his voice. 'And it seems that I was wrong to doubt the Dark Lord's instinct, wasn't I?'

My eyes flicker down to his wand as he crouches down in front of me. If I could just get hold of it, then perhaps… perhaps…

He smiles coldly. 'The Dark Lord always knows, Hermione.'

My hand flies out and snaps around his wrist, but in a lightening flash his other fist flies into my face and _ow _shit _fuck _it hurts, and I'm bleeding, and I recoil from him, clutching my nose and crying in pain as he stands up, shaking his head condescendingly.

'You might have been able to catch Lucius with his guard down, _Mudblood_,' he says. 'But you won't find me so susceptible.'

I watch him as he lowers his wand, pointing it at me, and I automatically recoil but all I feel is a sudden warmth as the pain in my nose melt away.

I lower my hands. He smiles.

I sit still on the floor, pulling my knees up to my chin and shivering. This is it. Game over. We're going to die. Lucius and I, we're both going to die.

Finally.

'How satisfying it is, to do one's duty,' he says, not taking his eyes off of me. 'What a pity Lucius seems to have forgotten what pride one can take in one's position in the world. How unfortunate that he should have… _slipped _in his responsibilities.'

'Please,' I whisper desperately, not knowing what else to do.

He shakes his head. 'Do not ask me for help, Hermione,' he says with almost a hint of false apology in his voice. 'Nobody - not me, nor God, nor even Lucius - can save you now.'

I open my mouth again, but in a moment he's stepped back and flicked his wand at me and all of a sudden-

'_Obliviate!'_

I stare at him, feeling the roar of my heartbeat in my ears, _thumthumthumthum…_

What does he want? What's he doing here?

_Nothing. It's probably nothing. Calm down. _

Calm down? Calm down? For Christ's sakes-

_He doesn't know anything's happened, does he? He doesn't know anything's changed. Be calm._

No. No, he doesn't _know_ anything. Not really. Not yet.

Focus. Focus on the breathing. In. Out. _Thumthumthum-_

'Why are you crying?' His voice is like a quiet music box.

'I'm crying because I miss my mother,' I say bitingly. 'Not that I expect someone like _you_ to understand that.'

He curls up a small smile, as if at some hidden joke, and for a brief moment his eyes… it's almost like…

What's he smiling about?

'No, I daresay you wouldn't,' he murmurs, before he raises his eyebrows, as if something has just occurred to him. 'Would a visit from young Mr. Weasley perhaps cheer you up? He spent most of last night pestering me for information on your welfare. I'm sure he'd only be too delighted to see for himself that you're alright.'

I narrow my eyes at him. 'Is that all you came here for?' I ask. 'To ask me a question to which you must already know the answer? Why on Earth would I pass up a chance to see Ron?'

He smiles blandly. 'I do have _some _common courtesy, you know,' he says, altogether too politely. 'I could have just brought him here without warning, it's true. But you could so easily have been… otherwise engaged.'

My face burns and my heart races.

_It's okay. He doesn't know. He can hint all he likes, but he doesn't _know.

'So,' he raises a dark eyebrow at me, 'would you welcome a visit from your friend?'

I grit my teeth on my impatience. 'Yes. Please.'

He smiles. 'Lovely.' He turns to the door. 'It's just past dawn; he'll have to get up soon to do his chores. I'll bring him to you as soon as I am able.'

He opens the door and pauses, turning to face me once more.

He watches me for ages – so long that I start to shift uncomfortably on the floor. What… what is he…?

A smile, a tiny shake of the head, and a whisper of laughter.

'Such a strange child,' he murmurs, before he leaves the room, closing the door behind him.

I stare at the solid, polished wood.

What the hell was _that_ all about?

I shiver, and I close my hand over my still-flat stomach.


	43. Proof

'_You teach me now how cruel you've been - cruel and false. Why did you despise me? Why did you betray your own heart? I have not one word of comfort. You deserve this… Yes, you may kiss me, and cry; and wring out my kisses and tears: they'll blight you - they'll damn you. You loved me - then what right had you to leave me? Because misery, and degradation, and death, and nothing that God or Satan could inflict would have parted us; you, of your own will, did it! I have not broken your heart - you have broken it; and in breaking it, you have broken mine.' – _Emily Bronte_, Wuthering Heights_

'_He never intended to love her. But now it was over. He had crossed over the gulf to her, and all that he had left behind had shriveled and become void.' - _D. H. Lawrence, _The Horse Dealer's Daughter_

* * *

'Hermione, you look dreadful,' Ron whispers, releasing me from his hug as soon as Avery leaves the room, shutting the door behind him.

I just shake my head. I feel exhausted. I haven't slept in two days.

'It's nothing,' I mutter, hoping that'll be the end of it.

I might be a coward, but I can't tell him, I just can't. It would destroy him.

_He'll have to know in the end, anyway._

He takes my chin gently in his hand, looking into my eyes.

'Are you alright?' he murmurs. 'You gave me a right scare yesterday. What happened to you?'

What happened to me? Oh yes, the fainting episode. I'd almost forgotten about it. Everything that's happened since had white-washed it from my memory.

'I just… I just felt faint, that's all,' I mumble. 'I don't even really remember it all that well.'

My eyes burn with daft, irrational tears. Stupid, stupid… why am I crying? What good will it do me?

'What's happened?' he says, reaching out to rub my arm in slow, rhythmic movements. 'Is it… is it _him_?'

His eyes harden a little as they take in the look his words have dragged on to my face.

'It was last night, wasn't it?' His voice has gone almost rigid. 'I knew something had happened. He was furious when he came back downstairs after taking you to your room. The only time he spoke was to shout himself hoarse at anyone who even _tried_ to speak to him. What happened between you? I thought it was all over now?'

I'm going to have to tell him. He'll find out in the end, anyway.

'Oh, Ron.' I start to breathe heavy sobs. I bring my hand up to my mouth, speaking through my fingers. 'It's the worst – worse than I ever imagined it could be.'

He takes both my hands in his, looking into my eyes.

'Listen to me,' he says rapidly. 'Whatever it is, we'll get you through it, I promise. What is it? Has he hurt you?'

I shake my head, breathing heavily. Oh god, can I do this?

_Should_ I do this?

'You'll hate me for it, I know that you will.'

He narrows his eyes for a moment, before he shakes his head. 'I could never hate _you_, Hermione,' he says earnestly. 'Now come on, what is it? What could be so awful that you can't tell me?'

I take a deep breath, and hold on for the last time to possibility of a future with Ron, and I let go of them both.

'Ron, I'm pregnant.'

Silence.

His eyes glaze over. They look empty.

He drops my hands, leaving me alone in the cold.

His mouth curls in apparent nausea.

'What… what?' he stutters.

This is it. It's all over. Everything. Oh god, _everything_…

'You heard correctly,' I say miserably.

He goes so pale he almost looks green. He drops his eyes from me, looking at the floor as if it might offer him some consolation.

'Oh god,' he whispers.

I bite down on the inside of my cheek, and I feel the sting of tears in my eyes.

'I'm so sorry, Ron,' I murmur. 'I'd give everything I have not to have to tell you this, but… but I have to.'

He nods, but I don't think he really heard me. He looks utterly lost. Desolate. Abandoned and alone.

'And… and it's _his_, is it?' he says, his voice strained; pulled tight as elastic.

'Yes,' I say, perhaps a little sharply. 'Who else's would it be?'

He mouths a few silent words, before pressing his lips together and shaking his head.

'I'm sorry,' I whisper, and I mean it.

'Don't be. I didn't mean… it's just, you know, with Avery and Draco around, and everything… they might have hurt you, I…'

Perhaps it might be easier for him to believe that this is the child of a rapist rather than someone whom I chose over him.

'Does…' He gulps down some air. 'Does _he_ know?'

Oh god, this is so mortifying. I just want to shrivel up and die.

'Yes, he knows,' I mumble miserably.

He rolls his eyes up to the ceiling, looking as if he's trying to pull himself together.

'What did he say?' he asks quietly.

I give a tiny suppressed snort. 'I'm sure you can guess,' I say bitterly. 'He wasn't best pleased.'

Ron exhales what might be a tiny hysterical laugh. 'No,' he mutters. 'That would explain why he was so angry… you told him last night, I'm guessing?'

'Yes,' I whisper.

He bites down hard on his lower lip, so hard that a tiny bead of blood seeps out onto it.

'So…' He seems to struggle for words for a minute. His eyes are lighting up. Blazing blue orbs of raging fire. 'Are you… are you going to get rid of it, or what?' he asks, as blunt as ever.

Oh, this is one of the hardest things. How can I tell him I'm going to keep hold of the one thing that could destroy everything we could ever have together?

'N-no,' I stammer. 'He… he wanted me to. He tried to get me to take an abortive potion, but I…' I pause, drawing breath. 'I couldn't. Perhaps I should have done, but I… I couldn't.'

He frowns deeply, seeming to attempt to find words. 'Why…?'

He presses his lips together, and shakes his head, seeming to change his mind.

I'm glad of it. I don't think I could answer the question I'm pretty certain he was going to ask.

'That… that bastard.' He chokes out the words. 'That sick, perverted _bastard_! He's… you're only eighteen, for Christ's sake…'

I stay where I am, wringing my hands.

'I know, Ron, but it's…'

He's not listening to me. He strides up and down for a few moments, talking in a rapid undertone; half to me, half to himself.

'The dirty, slimy… his son's age… and his wife… oh _god_!'

He suddenly yells in rage, turning and kicking the leg of my dressing table so hard the mirror sways perilously for a few seconds, but he barely seems to notice.

'I'll fucking KILL HIM!' he bursts out, his voice raw and ragged. 'The bastard, I'll _kill _him! This kid… oh god, it should have been…'

He stops himself from going any further. He brings his hands up to his face, breathing erratically.

My stomach aches with helplessness. I know what he was going to say. I know it, because I've said it to myself so many times.

'Yes, it should have been,' I mumble wretchedly. 'But… but it isn't, and now it's done.'

A long silence swallows my useless, worthless words. He doesn't answer me, but he turns, looking at the floor.

'I wish it _were_ yours, Ron,' I say shakily. 'I really do, but we can't-'

'Perhaps it could be.'

My brow ties itself into a frown.

He raises his head. His jaw is set firm; his mouth is a small knot of resolution.

'What do you mean?' I ask, although I think I know what he's going to say. To be honest, I'm trying to buy myself time to work out how I want to react to what I'm almost certain he's going to suggest.

He takes a tentative step forward. 'They already… they already know that… they all think we're involved with each other, in some way. Except for… for _him_.' He colours up with resentment, but he carries on anyway. 'Perhaps…'

He trails off, and he turns, striding rapidly up and down the room, speaking to me, but looking at the floor.

'I know we might never get out of here,' he mutters. 'But if we did, I don't mind… I'd be happy to pretend…'

He stops and looks up at me, his eyes bright, and in a moment he's right in front of me, clasping my hands in his.

'Will you let me look after you, Hermione? If we ever get out of here, will you let me take care of you?'

I stare at him, my thoughts a jumbled mess.

'I don't think we ever _will _get out of here-' I start, but he shakes his head.

'Even if we don't, I could still help,' he says resolutely, his voice hard with resolve and more than a fair dash of resentment. 'Couldn't I… couldn't I say that it's mine?'

I shake my head, and when I speak my words are just the bubbling surface to the chaos that reigns beneath.

'They'd kill you for spawning a half blood, Ron-'

'No, they wouldn't,' he replies with absolute certainty. 'They need me, don't they? I'm not some disloyal Death Eater that would need to be made an example of. Why would they kill me when they need me either to keep my parents in line or to get to Harry?'

I… oh god, I don't know what to think!

'But what happens when it's born?' I ask desperately. 'What happens if it's born with blonde hair and pale skin? They're not stupid, they'll know exactly what's happened-'

'Nine months is a long time, Hermione,' he says, with an almost excited look in his eye. 'We could easily be out of here by then. And if we are…'

He stops, and his grip on my hands tightens.

'I'd look after you, I promise,' he says, stammering slightly over the words. 'I know I'm not as clever as you are, and I'll probably never be rich. But I… I love you.'

My heart thuds in my chest as I meet his bright gaze.

'And if you let me, I'll love you for the rest of my life,' he says. 'I'll pretend this kid is mine. Even if we have to stay locked up here, I'll take the rap for it. We could just say that we… you know… when we were left alone together…'

He pauses for a moment, before he carries on.

'And if we get out of here… I'll bring the kid up as my own, if you'd like me to. You'll never have to hear anyone's whispers or reproach about who the father is. We'll say it's mine, and the kid will never have to know the truth.'

I gape down at him. 'You'd really d-do that?' I stammer. 'You'd bring up the child of a Death Eater as your own?'

He hesitates only for a millisecond before he nods with a grim certainty. 'To look after you, I'd do absolutely anything. And all I've ever wanted to do is look after you. If you'll let me, if we ever get out of here then I will spend the rest of my life doing just that.'

He falls down to his knees, keeping hold of my hands.

'If we manage to get out of here…' He hesitates, before he carries on. 'Hermione, will you marry me?'

I stare at him, lost for words. I don't know what to say, or think.

I've dreamt of this moment countless times. Whenever I'd grin stupidly into my pillow in the darkness of my dormitory thinking of a time he's smiled at me or looked at me, I'd let my mind drift to what it might be like if he ever proposed to me.

But then my schoolgirl fantasies of a candlelit dinner and a diamond ring were shattered by Lucius Malfoy, and now I find myself doing something I never thought I would – actually doubting whether or not to accept Ron's proposal of marriage.

But… but what other option do I have?

I love him. I really do. He's kind, brave, and good. He's my rock. He'd never hurt me, I know he wouldn't.

_But he's not Lucius._

But Lucius would never, ever… he'd never be able to offer me this, even if he wanted to.

And I do… I do love him, I do.

Ron looks up at me, his face full of anxiety.

I fall down to my knees with him, refusing even to think about what I'm doing, and I reach up to put my hand on his cheek.

'Yes, I'll marry you.'

He lets his breath out in a rush of pure relief, and we throw our arms around each other. I gasp out what could be a sob, I don't really know. I just feel his arms round me, and I have no idea what to think.

'I'll marry you,' I whisper.

The door bangs open.

I wrench my head up from Ron's shoulder to see Lucius, frowning hard at the pair of us as he shuts the door behind him. It's that old look, the one he always gets whenever he sees me with Ron. The one I first saw all that time ago, when Ron was first captured and the pair of us held on to each other for all our worth while Lucius looked on.

Jealousy. Complete and utter jealousy.

But if I was expecting him to react violently, then I was mistaken. He looks almost… I don't know. He just swallows sharply as he takes the pair of us in with a look of…

Resignation?

Ron has lifted his head too, and the pair of us scramble to our feet suddenly, though for entirely different reasons.

'You!' Ron hisses, his face flooding with crimson temper. 'Get the hell out of here, you bastard-'

'Be quiet and listen to me,' Lucius snaps.

It's not the lack of temper that shocks me – god knows, Lucius is no friend of Ron's. No, it's the… it's cold, clinical hardness of his words. The voice he uses when he's giving orders. When there's a specific plan to be adhered to.

What's he got to get us out of things this time?

I almost don't want to know.

I try to catch his eye, but he's looking resolutely at Ron, not even moving his gaze over to mine for a moment.

'I have absolutely no desire to be in your company, Weasley,' he mutters, his voice a razor-wire of impatience. 'But seeing as what I have to say concerns you, you might as well remain here.'

Ron snorts with derision. 'And what makes you think that I'm interested in what you've got to say? Why should I listen to a single word of a pervert that's knocked up a schoolgirl less than half his age?'

Lucius' cheek twitches slightly, but he contends himself with fixing Ron with a glare as cold as a winter sky. 'I flatter myself that you will find yourself _extremely _interested in what I have to say, when you discover the exact subject matter.'

He pauses, and his gaze flickers over to me for the briefest of seconds, before resting on Ron once more.

Why is he refusing to look at me?

'You know, I presume, of the… misfortune that has befallen us?' he says delicately.

Ron's lip curls up. 'Misfortune? You got a teenager pregnant, Malfoy – that's a little bit more than a misfortune-'

'Be that as it may,' Lucius says, his voice rigid with impatience, 'it is one that has occurred. And so it needs to be dealt with, as swiftly as possible.'

He stops for a moment, and for the briefest of seconds I think he's going to look at me. But he doesn't. He turns on his heel and begins pacing up and down the room, looking anywhere but at me.

I feel cold. Frozen. Because I have a suspicion about how this is going to go, and I don't… I don't know…

'If she won't take the abortive potion, then she can't stay here. All the members of this household already suspect what's going on between us, as does the Dark Lord himself. When they find out her condition they'll kill me immediately for my betrayal.'

He stops striding for a moment, and he moves his gaze to a spot on the wall, far to the left of me.

'But before they do that, they'll kill _her_,' he says, so very quietly. 'There has been talk of disposing of her anyway, seeing as there is little more need for her. Your parents' mutinous behaviour has led them to believe that you might be put to better use as a means to get to Potter rather than as a tool to keep your parents in line.'

He hesitates for a second, takes in a breath through his nose, then carries on.

'Not only that, but they'll want to make a real example of my betrayal.' He pauses, swallowing sharply. 'They'd take immense pleasure in doing so. The removal of an unborn half-blood would only add to the attraction of her murder.'

I shiver involuntarily.

Lucius shakes his head, and he turns once again to face Ron, who's gone almost as pale as the man that's facing him.

'But fortunately, this is an outcome that can be prevented,' Lucius says quietly, 'and it seems that fate is on our side in this instance.'

Why won't he look at me?

'You will remember the night your sister was brought here well, I believe?' he drawls, with a tiny little spark of malice flaring up in his eye for a split second.

Ron's face blooms red. 'Yes,' he replies through clenched teeth.

Lucius doesn't dwell on it, however. There's not enough time for that, it seems.

'Well then you will remember that it was Bellatrix who brought her here. She captured her in Hogsmeade, apparated with her to the lake, and brought her over here to serve her purpose.'

'Excuse me, but how the hell is this relevant – _ow_!'

Ron's interruption is cut off with his gasp of pain as Lucius raises his wand at him. He clutches his arm, wincing.

'It is relevant, because her capture may provide the key to your escape.'

Both Ron and I gape at him.

'_Our _escape?' Ron asks incredulously.

Oh… yours. Not ours.

He's not going to come with me.

Lucius jerks his head in a nod, looking very much as if he's been forced to swallow a mouthful of salt. 'Yes, _your _escape,' he says quietly. 'I believe the only option left for us is for me to inform the Order of your whereabouts, and have them come to rescue the pair of you at a pre-determined time. If they come at the end of the week, both Bellatrix and I shall be out of the way. We have work to carry out for the Dark Lord this weekend which would require us to be away for a few days.'

I don't say anything. I stay completely silent. So does Ron, though for entirely different reasons than mine, I think.

I try to straighten out my thoughts, but I can't. And so I talk only about the immediate matter in hand. The only matter it's safe for me to talk about.

'But won't Voldemort question how the Order knows where we are?' I say quietly.

Lucius shakes his head, still looking away from me.

'It's a risk, but one I'm hoping we can sidestep. That is why Ginevra's capture is relevant. Once Ronald is safely back with his parents, Ginevra can claim that she described where Bellatrix brought her to my niece Nymphadora, who recognised the description of the place – Ginevra is friends with Nymphadora, is she not?'

Without wanting to think about how he knows that, I nod, even though he's still refusing to look at me. But Ron is frowning at Lucius.

'But why haven't they come for us before?' he asks. 'If Ginny could describe where we were, then why didn't my parents tell the Order where I was?'

Lucius curls up a mocking smile. 'Don't you _realise_?' he drawls. 'Even after that old fool Dumbledore was killed by his most trusted ally, do you _still_ fail to understand that in this life you can't trust anybody? Even your idiotic parents have realised that. They have learned to trust nobody. They know that the Order is riddled with our spies, and that if they were caught passing information on as to your possible whereabouts you would be killed before a search party could even be sent out to look for you. After all, they weren't aware that anybody would know where exactly this house is. All they had to go on was a forest, a lake, and a cave. For all they know this house could have been in another country altogether. For some God-known reason they wanted to keep you alive, and so they kept the little information they had to themselves.'

For a few moments we all stand in silence, before I turn to Ron with a tiny smile.

'You see,' I whisper, 'they _do_ care about you, you idiot!'

Ron gives a small, involuntary grin, but Lucius merely scowls.

'Indeed,' he mutters, and for a moment, one electrifying moment, he slides his eyes over to me, wiping the smile off my face, and Ron's off of his.

But it doesn't last long. His gaze shifts slightly to the left, apparently unable to remain on me for more than two seconds.

'I shall contact the Order this evening,' he says, his voice curt and businesslike. 'I should be able to get away for an hour without suspicion. Avery told me not five minutes ago that he will be travelling over the river at sunset to see the Dark Lord. He didn't elaborate on the matter he requires him for, but I assume it shall keep him away for most of the evening. And Bellatrix was called to the Dark Lord before dawn – even now, she is with him, and so will not return before nightfall, when the boat runs once again.'

I feel numb. I'm trying to process it all but I can't.

'I am almost certain which of the members of the Order are loyal to their cause, and which of them are spies for the Dark Lord,' Lucius goes on in that bloody businesslike voice of his, 'and so I know exactly who to contact on this matter.'

'Tonks!' I say suddenly.

Ron spins round to look at me, but Lucius just frowns, looking at the floor.

'And Andromeda,' I whisper, determined not to show how much he's hurting me. 'They'd be the-'

'The only members of the Order left able to cross the river,' Lucius finishes for me. 'Yes, I know. They shall be the first two to be informed of the plan, along with the Weasleys, the Werewolf Lupin, Moody, and Shaklebolt. They should have more than enough strength between them to take on Avery and my son, and to get the pair of you out of here.'

'But I don't get it!' Ron says impatiently. 'Why are you letting _both _of us go? You're no friend to me, and it's not as if _I'm _up the duff-'

'_Think_, for a moment!' Lucius hisses impatiently. 'Just try to put the two brain cells you have in your possession into order and think. A Mudblood cannot cross over the river unaided by a pureblood and a member of the house of Black. So if she just goes missing one day, then the Dark Lord will know that one of our family who knows her whereabouts will have helped her. That leaves only myself, my son, and Bellatrix. And who do you think will top the list of his suspects, given what he already supposes to be going on between me and her?'

_-Not supposes. Knows by now, probably-_

What?

That thought trickles away like water in cupped hands, and I can't catch hold of it…

What was it?

Oh, it doesn't matter. It's probably not important.

'But if the Order were to show up, then Andromeda and her daughter would be on hand to help them travel over the lake,' Lucius goes on. 'And it would be only natural that they should rescue both of you, rather than just the Mudblood. If they were to only rescue her, then it would raise suspicion even further.'

He pauses, taking a deep breath, and then he turns to look at me, finally. The world seems to stop as he looks deep into my eyes.

'It is not as I would have it, given the choice,' he murmurs. 'But _choice_ is no longer a luxury we are afforded with. The two of you must escape this place… together.'

His lips go very thin after he masters his struggle to say that word, and for a moment we just stare at each other – two souls completely lost at sea.

So he's finally learnt how to care. He's going to do the last thing he wants to do to keep me safe. He's finally realised that when you care about someone, you can't afford to be selfish…

But he'd already learnt that. He put it into practice when he tried to distance himself from me before, didn't he?

Perhaps I did teach him _something_, after all.

Ron glares at Lucius for a few moments, before he smiles joylessly, shaking his head.

'So this is what it all comes down to is it, Malfoy?' he gloats, his voice hard. 'What a nice little hole you've dug for yourself. You gave up everything you held dear for Hermione, and now you have to let _her _go, too.' He pauses, his eyes glinting. 'I wonder what you'll have left, when all this is over.'

I see the twitch in Lucius' cheek, and the flex of his fingers as he turns to face Ron, but Ron doesn't stop. After all, he doesn't know Lucius like I do, does he?

'You know what you are, don't you?' he says quietly. 'Weak. A weak, hypocritical Blood Traitor. What a shame you couldn't be so strong when it really mattered-'

I see Lucius snap before he even moves.

'Lucius, _no_!'

But it's too late. He grabs Ron by the shoulders and slams him back against the wall, pinning him there by the throat.

I stride over to them quickly. 'For god's sake, stop it!' I pull at his arm, trying to drag him off, but he ignores me, focusing only on Ron.

'Don't you _dare_ speak to me that way!' he hisses, his face suffused with loathing. 'In case it's escaped your attention, you are in my debt, Weasley. I am going to allow you to walk out of this place without a struggle when by all rights I should leave you here to _rot_-'

'But then you'd have to allow Hermione to escape on her own, wouldn't you?' Ron smiles. Or perhaps I should say he grimaces as he tries to smile. 'And we couldn't have that, could we? You couldn't possibly give your precious Dark Lord any reason to suspect you, could you?'

I see Lucius' knuckles whiten. 'You don't know anything about it, you foolish boy.'

Ron breathes a mocking laugh. 'No, perhaps I don't. I'm not going to pretend that I understand how your twisted beliefs and loyalty to a psychopath could be more important to you than Hermione. Yes, Malfoy, I have to admit I'm completely ignorant on that matter.'

Lucius draws his hand back, and I don't even have time to think about it as I reach out and grab him before he can throw his fist into Ron's face.

'Don't!' I whisper. 'Please.'

His eyes slide over to me for a brief second before he quickly wrenches his hand away, exhaling sharply with frustration as he releases Ron from the wall.

Ron falls forward, massaging at his throat as he gasps for air, but the light of triumph hasn't dulled in his eyes.

'You're a failure, Malfoy,' he gasps, getting his breath back, glaring venomously at Lucius. 'You've failed in the one thing you never thought you would – your devotion to your precious pureblood cause.'

Lucius' face goes rigid for a moment, and for a moment I think he's going to hit Ron again. But then he curls his lip up in a sneer.

'That's as may be,' he says, his voice a quiet slither, 'but I am not the only _failure_ here.'

He pauses, and Ron stands up straight, his eyes narrowed as he meets Lucius' stony glare. I step forwards slightly, ready to get between them if they go for each other again.

'What _are_ you on about?' Ron asks quietly.

Lucius smiles a knife-like smile. 'You thought yourself in _love _with the Mudblood,' he drawls, his voice heavy with scorn. 'And yet you lost her.'

He pauses, and when he speaks again there's a small frown on his face.

'You lost her to me,' he murmurs.

I stare at him, completely lost, but Ron hasn't noticed the change in his manner. He just swallows, his face going almost as pale as Lucius', before he makes his reply.

'Don't try to say that you've won in that respect,' he says hotly. 'You're sending Hermione away. You'll never see her again when this week is over. The one thing you've ever cared about, and you're banishing her from your life forever.'

For a moment, I feel winded - like how you feel when you've been punched in the stomach. And from the look on Lucius' face, he feels exactly the same. But he takes a deep breath through his nose, and replies in a voice that would sound calm if you didn't know him.

'I don't care about her-' he begins, but Ron snorts with humourless laughter.

'Oh, don't give me that shit!' he exclaims. 'If you didn't care about her then you wouldn't have gone against everything you believe in for her-'

He stops as Lucius raises his fist again, and I let out a little scream, bringing my hands to my mouth and flinching with what I think is coming, but as Lucius' eyes flicker over to me, he lowers his fist from Ron's face, grabbing him instead by the scruff of his neck.

'That's enough,' he mutters under his breath. 'You will return to your room, Weasley, and if you've any sense you'll stay out of my sight until it's time for you to leave this place. God knows, I'll be glad to see the back of you.'

He pulls his key out of his robes, and the pair of them begin to glow with a dull red light…

But in the few precious seconds before they disappear into thin air, Ron turns his face towards me and, unseen by Lucius, he mouths three very distinct words to me.

'I love you.'

And then they are gone.

I stand still, my lungs airless.

Still, after everything, he still loves me.

_Of course he does. You knew that already._

I huddle my arms around myself.

Well that's it, then. Ron and I will leave. We'll be free, finally…

So why does freedom hurt?

I've had that thought before. I remember it. At the Burrow, just before I began to fully comprehend just how much Lucius might care for me…

Well, no, not _cared_ for me. I don't think he _cared _for me at that point. He wanted me, so badly that he'd go against orders from Voldemort to keep me to himself, but he didn't _care _for me then. He hated me for what I'd driven him to.

So when did he start to care for me, then?

I don't know.

But Ron… I've always known that _he _cared about me. And now I've had concrete proof. He's willing to give up his whole life for me. He'll raise the child of a man he hates, just for me. After all I've done to him, he still cares… much more than Lucius ever could.

That thought hurts me more than I can express, but… but it must be true, mustn't it? If he cared for me as much as Ron does, then he'd be willing to do what Ron is willing to do. He'd give up his life here and he'd come with me to raise his child.

But he won't. And so this is how it has to be. Ron and I will marry, just as I always wanted. We'll live together, possibly in the country. We'll probably have children of our own, once Lucius' child is born. We'll get jobs. We'll take the kids to school, do the weekly shopping, take turns with the housework. I'll seep my entire existence in normality as I try eternally to forget…

Lucius will stay here and continue to serve Voldemort, and Ron and I will go home.

And I'll never see _him_ again.

I press my cold fingertips to my lips as a sob threatens to burst out of me.

I can't cry. I just won't. There's no point. This is the only solution. There's nothing else any of us can do.

_Unless you get rid of the baby._

But… but I _can't_.

_Yes, you could._

But why should I, when this is to be my one chance of salvation? If I get rid of it, then Lucius will have no reason to let me go, and then he'll keep me here, and he'll only have to kill me in the end anyway…

_Wouldn't you rather spend a few more months with him, than spend years and years without ever seeing his face again?_

The door creaks open, and clicks shut again.

I whirl around. _He_ stands in front of me, looking at me long and hard, his cold steel eyes narrowed.

All there is is silence between us. Unbearable, complete and utter silence.

It's a silence of unspeakable words and indefinable emotions.

It's a silence I eventually decide to break.

'It looks like you're going to finally get your wish, then, doesn't it?' I say coldly.

He narrows his eyes at me. 'What?'

I breathe a sigh of utter bitterness. 'By the end of the week, you're going to be free of me,' I mutter. 'I won't be around to cause you any more bother. You'll never have to see me again. Isn't that what you've always wanted, Lucius?'

He looks at me long and hard. His skin is ice-white. Control. He's trying to keep control. He _needs_ to…

'Once, perhaps, Mudblood,' he mutters, not taking his eyes from my face.

I meet his gaze with a stony glare. 'If you don't want me to go, and you don't want to come with me, then what is it exactly that you want from me?'

He just looks at me for long moments, his mouth a line in a face of marble, before he eventually answers me in little more than a murmur.

'I want…' He takes a deep breath. 'I want you to stay here, with me.'

My heart skips, stops, then starts again as the illogicalness of that notion takes its time to register with me.

'And what?' It's a real struggle to keep my voice as icy-cold as I want it to be, and I find it cracking and wavering as my control seeps away. 'Even if I _did _do as you wanted, and got rid of our baby, what is there here for us? Do you want us to grow old together in this dungeon, _do you_?'

I'm getting hysterical. I take a deep breath to calm myself down.

He frowns at me, his eyes clouded over with a darkness I can't penetrate, before he shakes his head in irritation.

'Don't be so ridiculous,' he says shortly. 'You know full well that's not what I want.'

'Well seeing as you won't come away with me, that's all that would be left for us if I stayed with you!' I retort, feeling the burn of tears but not allowing them to fall yet. 'And anyway, you'd only have to kill me in the end. You know that. Both Bellatrix and Avery said it's what Voldemort wants-'

'I wouldn't kill you!' he says abruptly.

I stare at him, my heart fluttering in my chest, starting and stopping.

He looks uncomfortable for a second, before he drops his gaze from mine, addressing the corner of the room.

'I'd never do that to you,' he mutters. 'I'd have kept you here with me. I would have…' He struggles for a moment, looking as if he's wrestling with something he finds deeply unpleasant. 'I would have made sure you were… cared for.'

I stare at him incredulously. 'Who by? You?'

He lifts his eyes up to meet mine. They're hard and flinty. 'Is it so ridiculous a notion for me to have entertained?' he says coldly. 'All I've done for the past few months is look after you. You've always, always been the first thing on my mind, no matter where I am, or who I'm with. All I've ever _thought_ about is you!'

His voice has raised slightly. He checks it, pressing his lips together and taking a deep breath to calm himself down.

A slow trickle of poisonous grief is rolling its way down into my gut.

'And where would you have kept me?' I say in the end, my words faltering and disjointed with emotion. 'What exactly would you have done with a Mudblood, of use to no-one but yourself? Would you have locked me away in your attic, like Mrs Rochester?'

'Who?' he says impatiently.

'It's muggle literature, you ignorant…'

I stop, and take a deep breath to steady myself.

'We'd be found out in the end,' I murmur. 'You know that. Voldemort already suspects us, for god's sake. That's why you ended things between us, wasn't it? God knows, it wasn't _my_ decision-'

'It was one I had to make!' he says, his voice burning with resentment. 'I didn't want to, any more than I'd want to cut off my own arm! You'll never know how much that choice cost me!'

'Won't I?' I say, my voice cracking, much to my self-directed fury. 'Did it cost you as much as it cost me? You broke my heart that evening, Lucius. Did you tear your own in half, as well? I thought that you didn't have a heart to break!'

He takes a step towards me, his mouth opening furiously, but whatever he's about to say dies on his tongue. He sets his lips thin for a moment, his eyes burning, before he finally speaks in a voice pulled tight as a thread.

'I did it to save you,' he says, his voice full of the darkest bitterness imaginable. 'Why can't you understand that?'

I grit my teeth, trying to stop my lips from shaking with suppressed emotion.

'But there's so much I don't understand,' I whisper. 'So very much. Haven't you always tried to educate me on how ignorant I am? Well, let me enlighten you on the full extent of my ignorance.'

I pause, sucking in a breath to the depths of my lungs before forcing myself to continue.

'Why do you hate me so much?' I ask, almost simply.

He glares at me. 'What?'

I force myself, stumbling and halting, to carry on.

'Why am I so abhorrent to you?' Sobs start to interlace with my words, despite my best efforts to keep my voice steady. 'What is so wrong with me that you will do this to the pair of us rather than allow us to be together?'

I don't know whether I'm imagining things or not, but I could swear I just saw him flinch.

'I see that this is hurting you,' he mutters. 'I am sorry for it. You must believe me when I tell you that it has been a considerable amount of time since I last enjoyed causing you any pain.'

I let that sink in for a moment, before forcing myself to remember that it's all wrong, all of it. I know, because of words I remember him saying to me, so long ago. Words that once gave me nightmares before I began to cling to them with a twisted, desperate hope.

'You once said that you would die before you would give me up. Do you remember that, or is your memory so selective that you'll choose to forget that now that it suits you?'

And I know that I've cracked into his soul. I know, because his eyes blaze with fire. Harsh, angry, desperate fire.

'For god's sake, why can't you understand? Before you came along and destroyed everything, I would have died for what I believed in. I would have been glad to do it! But now…'

He pauses, and he turns with a curse, slamming his fist into the solid wood of the door, taking deep, shallow breaths before he finally speaks again, without looking at me.

'I can't understand it,' he mutters. 'I don't… I don't want to _die_ for _you_. Because if I were to die then I would never see you again. I want to go further than that. I want… I want to _live_ for you.'

I… oh god, I can't _bear _it. I feel like I'm about to implode, or spontaneously combust. There's too much emotion for my body to cope with, I know it.

He draws in a deep breath, closing his eyes. 'Don't talk to me like this,' he says, his voice a dark, low current of pain. He turns to me, opening his eyes to glare at me hatefully. 'I can't endure it. Do you have any idea what it's going to be like for me when you're gone, and all I'll have to remember you by are these final words you have to say to me?'

And suddenly he moves, and in a few strides he's right in front of me. He pauses, reaching out slowly, so slowly, and he gently grazes the tips of his fingers down from my temple to my chin.

The intensity of his gaze could burn me alive.

'Do you have any idea what it's going to be like for me without you?' he says, his voice barely a thread.

I suck in a shaky breath, and I reach up, placing my palm on his cheek, feeling the wonderfully familiar slight roughness, and the warmth. He closes his eyes for a moment in what looks like sheer agony, before he looks at me again.

'It doesn't have to be like this,' I whisper. 'You could come with me, you know that you could.'

He shakes his head, and although he looks like every movement is causing him pain, he turns, stepping away from me.

'I can't,' he says, his words forced. 'Even if it wouldn't go against everything I've ever fought for, it would be the death not only of me but of you, don't you see? And…'

He seems to struggle for a moment, but finally forces himself to speak.

'And the… the child. Our…' He takes a deep breath, and lets it out in a rush. 'Our child. You claim you're willing to risk everything to keep it, and yet you'd put its life in danger by forcing me to come with you. They'd kill the both of us, and they'd kill our child for good measure.'

I cling on to the skirt of my dress to steady myself, but I won't give up now. I won't give up, because he said _our_ child. Not _your _child. _Our_ child.

'If you cared for me…' I say falteringly, having to literally force the words past my lips. 'If you… if you loved me, you'd be prepared to take the risk.' I suck in a steadying breath, and stammer onwards. 'I am. Why aren't you?'

He clenches his teeth and shakes his head. 'Love?' he says, his voice low and unreadable. 'Love. What was it you used to try and tell me about love? What were the words you used? Ungovernable, unbearable, and horrible? It makes me wonder why you seem so damnably fond of the concept, if it causes you so much agony.'

I glare at him, anger welling up inside of me like a spring. 'Well, it's not as if you'll ever be able to understand, is it?' I say bitterly.

He looks at me for a few moments, his expression dark and unfathomable. 'I've never known how,' he says quietly. 'I never-'

'You never _tried!_' I say hotly, completely losing it. 'Don't give me all that rubbish about not being able to, you never _once_ tried!'

'It's never been a matter of my not _trying_ to love!' he shouts back. 'Since you came along I've had to _try_ my damned hardest _not_ to…'

He stops himself from saying anymore.

The following silence presses down on us like a dead weight.

I stare at him, my breathing shallow.

His cheeks are white, pure white, his breathing as erratic as mine.

I don't say anything. I don't dare to.

My head… it's so full of things I don't understand, that I can't compute. Filled with things like infinity and the existence of god and black holes – things beyond human comprehension.

And my heart… oh god, it _hurts_.

He brings his hand up to his eyes, shielding them from me, which I'm glad of. I don't know whether I could look into them for one second longer without going completely insane.

My head is _killing_ me.

I swallow down, hard. 'If we had time, maybe…' I say falteringly.

He lowers his hand from his eyes and steps slowly towards me, his jaw firm with resolution.

'We could have time now,' he says quietly, before taking my hand and reaching into his robes.

'What are you doing?' I whisper.

He locks his gaze onto mine. 'You shall see.'

He pulls the small key out of his robes.

'The Garden.'


	44. Eden

'_Sweet, never weep for what cannot be,  
For this God has not given.  
If the merest dream of love were true  
Then, sweet, we should be in heaven,  
And this is only earth, my dear,  
Where true love is not given.' – _Elizabeth Siddal_, Dead Love_

* * *

The first thing I register is the grass.

I lift the hem of my robe, ever so slightly, and I watch my bare toes wiggle in the long, cool blades of grass.

It… tickles.

I close my eyes, and I breathe out a heavy sigh.

Fingers brush against my own.

'Mudblood?'

I smile, so choked up with emotion I can barely breathe.

'I never thought I'd feel grass again,' I whisper, my nose burning with tears.

His fingers curl under my chin, lifting my head up to face him. I don't open my eyes, but I can feel him move his face closer, and closer, and I hold my breath in the very top of my lungs as his lips brush onto my jawbone, oh-so lightly, before he pulls away and brushes them onto my forehead.

I let out my breath shakily, and I feel him pull away from me.

I open my eyes, and I turn my head from him, looking out into the darkness of the garden.

I pull in a gasp. I can't help it. I don't think I've ever seen anywhere so…

Beautiful?

_Is _it beautiful?

Yes, but it's… it's also too _unreal_. Something like this is difficult to define. It's somewhere I can't find myself believing in… we're not outdoors, but…

In spite of myself I roll my eyes up, expecting to see stars, the moon, and the black-blue of a night sky. But there's nothing. Just pure black. This whole place must be underground, just as Ron guessed it was.

But the light - the moonlight, I mean - where's it coming from?

It seems to be coming from the ruins. Ron was right… they look a bit like old Muggle Abbeys, but made of the brightest stone. I think the glow's coming from them, allowing us some clear, silver light not unlike moonlight.

I shiver, and as if in an answer a soft breeze sighs through the trees, plucking leaves from their black branches, carrying them towards us. They float softly through the air, taking a seeming age to fall by our feet.

Leaves. Grass. Wind. All things I never expected to encounter again.

For a moment, it's too much for me. I feel the build up of tears in the back of my throat, and I swallow. All I can think to say is-

'Oh god.'

A fleeting gasp of wind, and the silver tinkling of what sounds like bells, then-

Silence.

'_Your silence is golden-'_

I gasp, clutching at my heart, which suddenly beats out a thumping, irregular rhythm.

What was _that?_

I try… I hold…

There's nothing to hold on to… what was I thinking?

There's a slithering of leaves behind me as he moves closer, his cloak whispering like a snake's belly over the ground.

'What's the matter?' he whispers.

I shake my head, trying to clear it.

'Nothing,' I mutter. 'Nothing.'

There's a long silence while I stare around me, trying to make sense of this hidden paradise.

'When was this garden put here?' I whisper, without turning round to look at him.

There's a short pause.

'I don't believe that anyone living knows,' he murmurs. 'Family legend says that the garden was here before the house was built – that it's a site of old magic that resided under the cave before the Blacks had even established themselves as a dynasty, let alone thought to build themselves a home here.'

A breeze shivers through the branches of the trees, sending a ripple of silvery, bell-like notes fleeting through the air, so quietly you can barely hear them.

'What do _you _think?' I ask, gooseflesh forming on my arms.

He pulls in a breath in thought.

'There is old magic on this site,' is his reply. '_That_ is undeniable. But as to how old that magic is, I cannot say.'

Old magic. I've heard about it. It wasn't something we ever studied in depth at school – it was considered far too advanced for us. Magic older than invention – some said as old as time itself. Magic that influenced thought and feeling without force.

I shake my head. I've got to be logical.

'Isn't this a bit risky, you bringing me here?' I ask. 'Ron told me he's been taken out here for exercise before; that must mean that the others know about it. What if we're discovered here?'

'We won't be,' is his swift reply. 'This place can only be reached with a transportation key, and there are currently only two of them in existence. One of them belongs to Narcissa, and she has entrusted possession of her key to me while I'm living here. The other belongs to Bellatrix, who right now is on the other side of the river, unable to return until sunset.'

I pause, looking for a possible loophole and failing to find one. He wouldn't bring me here if there was risk of discovery, I know that he wouldn't.

He moves in front of me, his stare dark and intense.

'So we have time?' I whisper.

He steps closer to me, catching a lock of my hair between his finger and thumb as he looks down into my face.

'Time enough,' he murmurs.

But I won't be caught up in it. Not yet. There are things I still need to know.

'Why didn't you bring me before?'

He curls a small frown. 'At first I had no desire to,' he murmurs. 'I had no wish to do present you with any joy when we first arrived here. Then when things began to… change, I had no desire to allow you to see... It was only when I realized I was going to lose you that I realized how much I wanted to show you what you meant to me.'

I exhale in bitter amusement. I know him. Too well. Better than I ever wanted to.

'What a wonderful liar you are, Lucius Malfoy,' I mutter.

A muscle goes in his cheek as he drops his hand from my hair.

'I wouldn't lie to you, Mudblood,' he says sharply. 'I would never-'

'Oh yes, you would never lie to me,' I snap back at him. 'Just like you didn't lie to me about wiping my memory, all that time ago.'

He almost flinches, and I smile without any joy.

'You wouldn't lie to me.' I turn my face away from him as I speak. 'Even _that_ itself is a lie. You lie to me now just as you lied to yourself about how much I meant to you. Just as you lied to me, time and time again, about why we shouldn't be together.'

His fingers clasp onto my chin, turning me to face him again.

'It was no lie,' he says fiercely. 'Say you weren't a Mudblood. No, listen to me.' He forces me to keep on facing him as I try to turn away. 'Say your blood were as pure as mine. I have a wife.'

I wince; I never want to remember the perfect trophy wife that talked to me so politely while I was having an affair with her husband. But he carries on talking.

'You've known that all along – I've never tried to conceal it from you,' he says bluntly. 'And a Death Eater could not involve themselves with a prisoner in their charge – let alone one as important to our cause as you are. It wouldn't take you blood status to tell you that.' He pauses, and his final sentence is a whisper. 'And yet you let me into your bed.'

'I didn't let you in – you forced your way in.' I wrench my face out of his hand. 'Do you choose to forget that fact, Lucius?'

It's my turn to be cruel now. And from the look on his face, I'm succeeding.

He doesn't say anything for a long while, and when he eventually speaks his lips barely move.

'Is that it, then?' he mutters bitterly. 'This whole thing was completely one-sided on my part – is that what you're saying?'

I pause, stung, before I answer.

'Not always,' I reply. 'You know that it wasn't. You know that when you left me, all I wanted was for you to stay. But you can't deny that when this started it was your doing. You came to _me_, and you pushed me into a situation I wasn't ready for.'

'I didn't know what else to do!' he hisses, his anger conquering him. 'You have no idea what it was like – to know day in, day out that you were there, so close by, always completely…'

He pauses, breathing harshly with temper.

'It wasn't just _me_,' he says finally.

I glare at him. 'You won't blame me,' I say staunchly. 'How could you blame me? I was seventeen years old – I was a child. But _you_ – you're a grown man, with a wife, a son my age, for god's sake. You should have known better.'

He sneers. 'So what would you have preferred? Would you like me to dance around you, like Weasley has done for the past seven years? It's not my way, Mudblood. I take what I want, if I do not have it already.'

I smile bitterly. 'Of course,' I mutter. 'What else could I expect from a Malfoy? Ambitious, ruthless, spoilt – just like your son.'

'And you're rude, ungracious, and above yourself – typical of a Mudblood,' he fires back.

'What else do you expect?' I'm furious to hear my voice crack. 'You took me from my home. You killed my parents, for god's sake! You tortured me, not just for the information you needed, but for your own bloody entertainment!'

He flinches slightly. He doesn't want to remember that time, but I won't let him forget it.

'You wouldn't just let me be, would you? You couldn't accept the one bit of self-esteem I had, so you bled it out of me. You kept coming back, hounding me again and again…'

I trail off, unable to speak anymore. I'm hurting. This isn't just an emotional hurt. It's all-out, full blown physical agony, and I can't put words to it.

From how he's looking at me, my guess is he's feeling the same way.

'Don't stand there and tell me this was all one-sided,' he says coldly. 'And don't pretend that you didn't force my hand. I was the last person on Earth who wanted what happened between us – you know that!'

'Then why didn't you leave me?' I retort. 'Why didn't you just leave me be? Why couldn't you let me have Ron, and be untroubled by your intrusion into my life?'

He doesn't answer my question.

'If we're going to exchange confessions, why don't you tell me why you asked me to leave you time and time again, and when I finally did you begged me to come back to you?' His words sting with venom. 'Why? If I have ruined your life to the extent that you claim, then why did you take my leaving you so badly?'

I swallow down hard. I won't cry in front of him…

I said to myself, the night he first captured me, _I won't cry in front of him. I won't be weak. _I didn't know what real strength was, then. I didn't know what there was to fear.

'I don't know,' I whisper, tears burning my eyes. 'All I know is that I couldn't bear to be away from you. It wasn't until I lost you that I realized how much I loved you.'

He stares at me as my words sting the air. Looks at me, not without comprehension, but as if he knows only too well now what I'm talking about. And that fact hurts him more than words will ever begin to express.

I start to cry.

'I love you, Lucius,' I say, and in the end, it's the easiest thing in the world. 'I hate you, oh god, I hate you so much, but… it goes along with all the hate, I… I can't… I don't know, but I love you-'

In a moment I'm in his arms. I don't know whether he pulled me to him or whether I sprang towards him – all I know is we're pressed together so tightly I almost can't breath for the force of it. We're fused together, and I don't think we could draw apart without killing one or the other, and he's kissing me, and kissing my tears, and I'm sobbing so hard that I hope to god I die in his arms, because death would be preferable to this agony.

'You cannot be with Weasley,' he says desperately.

'If I can't be with you, then why can't I be with Ron?' I ask, taking his face in my hands. 'And if I'm not with Ron, then people will ask who the father of my child is. And when Voldemort hears those rumours he'll kill you in an instant, and I would kill myself before I'd let that happen.'

He inhales sharply, his expression utterly desperate. 'No,' is all he says. 'No, no…'

We slide down to the grass, which scratches and tickles my legs as my robe rides up above my knees. He looks down at me… no, not looks. Glares. He glares down at me…

God, could he still hate me? Not like he used to, but… after everything I've done to him, and what I've brought him to? Could he hate me for causing him this much pain – pain that he's never known before?

His mouth crushes down on mine again, bruising my lips, breaking blood vessels with the force of it, and I hold him to me so closely that I don't think I could ever let go, ever, because whether he hates me or not, this will be the last time, ever, ever…

His hand moves quickly down to my thigh, pushing my dress up and up till it's up around my hips. The tips of his fingernails graze my skin in his urgency, and I slide my hands under his robes, trying desperately to get to bare skin, and-

'Lucius?'

He stops. I stop.

Our eyes meet as our breathing slows a little.

I graze my fingers over his cheek, winding them into the hair at his temple.

'Do you love me?' I whisper.

I hear a soft, wet click as his tongue comes unstuck from the roof of his mouth, but nothing more is said. For a long while we just hold each other in silence, but he doesn't answer me, and that is enough.

His silence is answer enough for me.

But now the movements are slow. It's as if the knowledge that this is going to be the last time ever is suddenly drowning us, and any movement we have to make takes us through swirling, oppressive water.

A twang like an elastic band explodes in the pit of my stomach as his fingers trail slowly up the inside of my thigh, and a gasp catches in my throat as they reach up between my legs. His eyes scorch my own as he moves his fingers, slowly.

I think I know now the mind-set of medieval martyrs - people who would willingly walk to the pyre where their clean, whole bodies would burn away to nothing.

I want him to burn me alive.

His hand moves down to his belt, and there's a cold clink of metal as his buckle comes undone. Still he won't take his eyes from my face, as if I would disappear into thin air if he were to look away from me.

I want to stay with him forever. I want us to float together through oblivion, knowing nothing else but each other forever. A world without end, forever and ever amen.

He pushes into me, and I feel the familiar sharp pain-that's-not-pain in the pit of my stomach. I wrap my arms tightly around him as he pushes my legs even wider apart, pushing further and further into me.

I want to climb up into the non-existent sky to drag the god I no longer believe in down to earth so that he can see what I've done. So that he could see what I've done to the Lucius Malfoy that once existed. 'See!' I would scream. 'See what I've created!'

His hand stays between my legs, between the two of us, stroking and pinching, and I gasp, tilting my head up as the fingers on his free hand slide up my neck.

I want to breathe his soul.

It's not until I feel his thumb brush my cheek that I realize that my face is wet with tears.

'Why are you crying?' he whispers, his movements slowing for a moment.

I roll my eyes up, pulling in a wet breath, and he places his free hand on my cheek.

'Why?' he repeats.

'I don't know.' I lock my gaze on to his again. 'It's just… when this is over… I'll never see you again.'

He pulls in a breath, and for a moment I don't think he can answer me. 'Don't,' he whispers. 'Just… don't-'

His thumb slides up my neck, over my jaw, into my mouth. A groan eases from his lips as I unconsciously sink my teeth into his skin, and the fingers on his other hand move faster and I bite down harder, until all my blood vessels burst and my atoms explode as fireworks go off in my head my stomach, and a few minutes later he moans and arches his back, and then-

Silence.

I reach up and softly kiss his neck as he gets his breath back above me.

Eventually, he rolls off of me, lying down in the grass next to me. I pull down my robe, which has ridden up round my waist, but I say nothing.

It's him that eventually breaks the silence.

'I want to come with you, Mudblood,' he murmurs.

It's like I've swallowed poisoned honey. There's incredible sweetness, tinged with the dread of what that sweetness brings…

Ron. I've agreed to marry Ron.

But Lucius…

Oh god, all I want is for him to come with me. It's all I want in the world.

I slide my hand down into his, feeling his fingers wrap around my own. I don't look at him. I look up at the black expanse of the ceiling, feeling lost in its darkness.

I need to know. More than anything, I need to know.

'Do you love me, Lucius?'

For the longest time imaginable, there's silence. The deepest silence I've ever known. If you didn't know it, you wouldn't be able to hear that there were two human beings in the vicinity, because both of us have stopped breathing while he chooses whether to answer me or not.

But do I need to know his answer?

Don't I know it already?

Didn't he answer this question for me, all that time ago, with words I'll never, ever be able to forget?

_Hold on… why would you want me to… you know why, Mudblood._

But his answer comes in the end, anyway.

'Yes,' he murmurs.

And there's no flash of lightning. No world crashing down. Things on the surface are just the same as they ever were, but I feel as if the ground has fallen away under me. It's the same feeling of pure, sweet triumph I'd feel when I'd finally solved a problem in class, only it's multiplied a million times over and more.

I've won. After everything I've been through, I've won.

I could die in this moment and be contented, because every nerve in my body is exploding, making me want to laugh and cry, and in my mind lightning is flashing and the world is crashing down, and he loves me, and…

It's sudden.

A blackout.

No warning or anything, but pure black, and I'm falling…

'_Your silence is golden, Hermione.'_

What, why-

Images. Flashing images, like a television going haywire.

'_If you aren't going to be polite to me, then you force me to keep you quiet. You should be aware that I can't stand bad manners, particularly coming from one of such inferior birth as your own.'_

Avery's face. Calm, curious, collected.

'…_bad manners, particularly…'_

A blank mask with a tiny arch of a dark eyebrow giving nothing away…

But it's all flickering and shifting, and I can't hold on-

'_Don't take me for a fool… don't lie to me-'_

When did this happen?

'_Don't lie…'_

Blank spaces.

'_Don't…'_

My eyes were stinging, that I can hold on to. They were burning with the effort of… what?

'_Would you care to name him for me?'_

who

'_Would you care-'_

what

'_Would you…'_

'Mudblood?'

But I need to see-

'_Would you…'_

An arm around my shoulders, shaking my body like a marionette.

'Hermione? Speak to me, for god's sake!'

My name. My _name!_

Lucius said my name. He said my name, and he loves me-

But Avery said my name.

'_Do not ask me for help, Hermione,' he says with almost a hint of false apology in his voice. 'Nobody - not me, nor God, nor even Lucius - can save you now.'_

_I open my mouth again, but in a moment he's stepped back and flicked his wand at me and all of a sudden-_

'_Obliviate!'_

I pull in huge gasps of air as my eyes fly open, and the moonlit garden swirls and blurs around me as I shake uncontrollably.

Lucius' arms are around me. One under my shoulders, shaking me, the hand of the other warm on my cheek.

'What's the matter? What's happened?'

I can't see him properly. His face is a blurred, pale oval. I try to speak, try to voice this new, inexplicable fear, but I can't, and so I say-

'God help me.'

Avery's done… something. Something he didn't want me to remember-

'Oh my god, oh my-'

Lucius shakes me harder. His voice is a tight wire of panic.

'What's happened? Tell me.'

I blink, getting my breath back. His face comes into sudden, sharp relief. Drawn. Tense.

Afraid.

I gulp, and I try to put the screams in my mind into logical order.

'Avery,' I say, my voice halting. 'I can remember… but I can't-'

'What do you mean?' he whispers.

I pull in a deep breath, and try to carry on.

'I think… I think Avery's obliviated me,' I say rapidly. 'But I don't know what he's obliviated… I just saw, just now, I saw-'

I close my eyes and shake my head in sheer frustration, and my voice cracks when I speak again.

'I can't remember it!' I groan. 'I just can't… I'm trying, but all I can remember is him saying 'obliviate'-'

He swears under his breath, and when I open my eyes I see his gaze moving to the side. He's thinking. Thinking quickly.

Another breeze shivers through the trees, but it feels cold and sounds sinister, now. This small paradise has been shattered by the missing memory of Avery, sliding between us like a huge, black snake.

'What are we going to do?' I ask quietly.

His skin is ice-white with fear.

I reach out and grip at the front of his robes. He lets out a shaky breath and gathers me to him, holding me close.

'I'll think of something,' he mutters into my hair. 'I promise you. Don't worry. Trust me.'

I press my face into his robes.

'I trust you,' I whisper.


	45. Back to Basics

'_I know the bottom, she says. I know it with my great tap root;  
It is what you fear.  
I do not fear it: I have been there.'_ – Sylvia Plath, _Elm_

_Reversion, noun - __a turning or being turned the opposite way; reversal; a reverting, or returning, as to a former state, custom, or belief_

* * *

Well, at least I won't have to put up with this bedroom for much longer.

I stare out at it blankly, my eyes travelling over the cracks in the stone walls, the bare wooden floor, the flickering candles.

I won't miss it. Not the room, or the memories it carries locked inside it, like a Pandora's box.

Memories. I've got so many of them stored away in my mind. They're the only things that have kept me sane during my time here.

There are new ones I've added to my collection in the past few hours. It's these memories I file through now while I wait…

* * *

'_Are you sure you can't remember anything else?'_

'_Yes, I've told you.' _

'_There's nothing at all? Not a shot of his face, or anything else he might have said-'_

'_I wouldn't lie about this!'_

'_For God's sake, Hermione!'_

'_Look, I'm doing my best, but I honest to God can't remember anything else.'_

'_Alright, so let me get this straight – you can only remember him performing a memory charm on you?'_

'_Yes. There was other stuff as well, I know that there was, but… but I can't hold on to it, I really can't!'_

'_Alright, calm yourself down. I believe you. What about his face? Does the expression he was wearing give anything away?'_

'_No. You know what he's like.'_

'_Yes. Damn him, I know what he's like. Impossible to read. A complete closed book.'_

'_That's probably how everyone in the outside world views you.'_

* * *

A few hours, he said. A few hours. It must have been longer than that by now, surely?

There's a creeping sensation in the depths of my stomach. It's an old feeling. One I haven't experienced so acutely for a long time.

One thing I've learned about during my captivity is fear. People who don't have to live with fear day in, day out take living without it for granted. They are used to bodies that do not tremble, shoulders that do not ache with tension, a mind that does not continuously prickle with terror. To them, nightmares are an unusual and irritating occurrence that appear only rarely. They will not be awakened, night after night, by the sound of their own inexplicable, terrified sobs.

Fear is the strongest weapon there is. Above respect, hatred, and love, it is the one thing that can truly keep people in their place.

Avery is not the only thing I fear right now.

This is a particular type of fear. A pure, grade A terror. Made all the worse because I know exactly what to expect. Not only that, but I know that I have to take what's coming. I have to, otherwise there'll be no future for us.

* * *

'_It might be alright. It could have been anything, really.' _

'_You really believe that?'_

'_What other option do I have?'_

'_God help us, what if he knows? What if he knows what we've done? We have to know exactly what he did to you. Only then can we know how to deal with the situation.'_

'_Look… you said out there that you want to come with me.'_

'_I do.'_

'_Well then… why don't we just… leave? Tonight? We could be on the other side of the country before anyone even knew that we'd gone-'_

'_They'd track us down in a moment. If both of us disappeared together, they'd know why we'd gone. And they wouldn't rest until they found us.'_

'_But won't they try to find us anyway, if you're going to come with me?'_

'_Not necessarily. I have considered… listen to me, I refuse to decide how to deal with the situation until I know exactly what's happened.'_

'_But we could be wasting time while we sit here waiting!'_

'_It isn't 'sitting here waiting'! I will not rush into a plan of action before I know all the factors involved. It could put us in unnecessary danger, and I won't do that without good reason.'_

'_Alright, so how do you think we can find out what he obliviated me for?'_

'_I don't know… I can't think…'_

* * *

He's here.

He stares at me, his face firm. Emotionless. He needs it to be so.

But… oh god, his eyes. They were my first step on the pathway to his soul. It was when I realised how expressive his eyes are that I started to realise there might be a human being beneath the Death Eater's mask.

They're churning now. Deep mercurial whirlpools of emotion in a blank slab of marble.

I pull in a lungful of warm, stale air. This is fine. This can be done. I can... I've got to.

'Do you have it?' I ask shortly.

A small twitch in his cheek is the only bit of reaction his face gives away.

He reaches into his robes and pulls out a small vial of jade-coloured liquid, holding it out to me.

I step forward to take it from him, looking long and hard at it when I do so.

'Will it work?' I ask quietly.

His reply comes swiftly. 'I would not lie to you.'

I raise my head, meaning to glare at him, but my eyes are snagged by the sight of his wand resting lightly between his fingers. Harmless, for now.

I gulp, and I force my gaze onto his face. There's a small frown there now, knotted between his eyebrows.

He's going to lose it. I know that he is. This is going to hurt him even more than it's going to hurt me.

'Can you blame me for asking?' I ask quietly. 'After all, it would be so easy for you. You could just lie about this and you'd have my permission to basically get rid of it-'

'If I was going to take that route,' he says, his voice like iron, 'I would have done so when you first told me about your preganancy. I would not have waited for a situation like this to give me an excuse to do so.'

I frown at him 'Then why…'

I trail off at the look on his face. A look that tells me as clear as day, _don't make me say it…_

He's waiting.

I pull the stopper out of the bottle, throw a quick prayer to a non-existent God, and I pour the bitter tasting potion down my throat. I tastes so foul that I wince, allowing the vial to fall to the floor with a clatter.

He makes a movement, as if he were about to reach out for me, but he thinks better of it, dropping his hand in mid-air.

I clear my throat, trying to dislodge the taste of the stuff.

He's losing his own private battle. There's a muscle going in his cheek.

'And you're certain it will work?' I ask.

He nods curtly. 'It will protect the baby,' he murmurs. 'Not… it will not protect you.'

I frown. 'If it protected _me _then I wouldn't take it.' I curl a smile I don't feel in my heart. 'It would kind of go against the point of all this, wouldn't it?'

He doesn't smile back. I don't think he'd be able to even if he tried.

I take a deep breath. This has to be done, and he'll only do it with my permission.

'Well, what are you waiting for?' I say shortly. 'Do it.'

He flinches, as if I've slapped him across the face.

My stomach clenches up, but I've got to do this. I've got to.

He clears his throat, then shakes his head in exasperation. 'This is unnecessary,' he mutters.

'You said you will not act until you know all the facts,' I fire at him, determined to get this over with. 'This is the only way to get them. You said so yourself – to act under ignorance would put us both in danger.'

His lips thin out. 'That may be true, but it doesn't make things any easier, does it?'

I clench and unclench my hands. 'You used to enjoy doing this,' I say, ignoring the twitch in his eye as I remind him of the distant past. 'What's changed, Lucius?'

He narrows his eyes. 'You know damn well, what's changed,' he mutters. 'How can you stand there and ask this of me when you know-'

'It's less, so much less, than what you've asked of me, time and time again,' I say, pain sharpening my words. 'Do you know what it's made me feel like, sleeping with my parents' murderer?'

He draws in a sharp breath. 'You know I didn't want to kill them!' he hisses. 'I'd have given everything I had not to be the one to cause you that much agony-'

'But you still did, didn't you?' I counter. 'You hurt me then to make sure that I wasn't taken away from you. Now you have to do the same again. It's either that or you run the risk of both of us dying. It's your choice, Lucius. As ever, I'm at your mercy.'

He raises his eyes to look at the ceiling, taking a deep breath before he looks at me again.

'You are willing?' he asks, his voice a wire.

I nod. 'I have forgiven you for everything you have ever done to me,' I mutter. 'And I will forgive you for this. Do it. It's the only option we have.'

He opens his mouth, but then he turns away from me. His whole body is rigid, and he doesn't turn back from me and for the longest time in the world I think he's not actually going to do it, and god help me, I actually start to hope that he won't…

But then he turns, and his emotionless face doesn't quiver as he raises his wand, pointing it at me.

'Crucio!'

* * *

'_There is one thing we can do.'_

'_You have an idea?'_

'_Sort of.'_

'_Well, spit it out!'_

'_There is one way a memory charm can be broken, even if the person breaking it didn't cast it in the first place. You must have realised… it's happened plenty of times before, by accident, and if we know vaguely what we're looking for-'_

'_Stop there.'_

'_But… why not? I mean, what other option do we have?'_

'_No. No… how can you even ask this of me?'_

'_Ask it of you? It'll be worse for me, surely. If I'm willing to go through it, then surely you can do the same.'_

'_There are other ways to break a memory charm. There must be-'_

'_No, there aren't. Not unless you yourself were the original caster. You know that.' _

'_Damn him to hell!'_

'_It has to be done, Lucius. It's alright. I forgive you for it.'_

'_No, Hermione. No. No-'_

* * *

White-hot flames lick over my body and burning whips tear through skin into bone, razors scraping away at nerves and it burns, hurts, burns burns-

It stops.

I roll over onto my front, raising my shaking head to look at him as juddering spasms of after-shock bolt through my body.

His lips are a thin line. His wand shakes in his grip.

God, I'd almost forgotten how painful it is. It hurts like the devil…

But the devil doesn't exist. I never believed in him, even when I believed in God.

The only devil I know of stands in front of me, losing his battle with his own emotions as he tortures the girl he loves.

Loves.

Who knew that the devil could fall in love?

'Anything?' is all he says.

I lick the sweat off my upper lip, and I shake my head. 'Nothing.'

He exhales sharply, bringing his hand up to his forehead for a moment before lowering it again so that he can stare at me.

I almost smile. Almost. But smiling hurts too much. 'You didn't think it would be that easy, did you?'

He shakes his head jerkily. 'Of course not. But I was hoping that perhaps we might be lucky, for once.'

I draw in a deep breath to try and silence the squirming in my guts.

'You're going to have to go further than that, Lucius.'

He glares at me, hating me for a moment once again. 'How can you ask this of me?' he murmurs.

I can hardly believe my ears. 'Ask this of _you_?' I say incredulously. 'I think this might be just a little more difficult for _me._ For God's sake, do you have any idea how much it _hurts?_'

And I know 'hurts' is such a banal word while trying to describe pain like that, but it looks as if that word was a lash to his soul.

'I do know what it feels like,' he mutters feelingly. 'Why else do you think I'm so reluctant to put you through it now?'

I curl my knee up to my chin, biting down on it for a second, and then I whisper, 'Well try something else then.'

He frowns at me with utter disbelief. 'Like what, exactly?'

I feel myself snap. 'I don't know!' I hiss. 'I've already given you permission to do this to me! What more do you want? A sodding instruction manual?'

He takes a few rapid steps towards me. 'Hear me,' he says, almost calmly. 'I cannot do this.'

I shake my head. 'No. You don't _want_ to do this. Can't and won't are two very different things.'

* * *

'_Aren't you forgetting something?' _

'_What?'_

'_You're pregnant. Don't tell me you've put us both in such incredible danger only to put the child at risk now.'_

'_I've got no intention of putting it at risk! There must be some way to protect it. There must be!'_

'_There is a potion. One used to protect an unborn child being carried by a witch about to enter battle. My guess is it will work in the same way in this situation. But it will take me hours to prepare it.'_

'_Well then take hours over it. I haven't gone through all this and put us in such danger just to give you the excuse to get rid of it now.'_

'_For God's sake!'_

'_I will not do this without it. Otherwise we can just sit here till the end of the week and pray that Avery doesn't know anything and hasn't gone running to Voldemort. It's your choice.'_

* * *

He holds on to my wrist so tightly it looks as if his knuckles are about to burst out of his skin.

His gaze flicks up to meet mine.

Never before have I seen in his eyes such profound guilt. Not even when he'd murdered my parents. After all, he didn't understand the concept of 'emotional attachment' back then, did he?

'I'm sorry, Lucius,' I mutter, my voice shaking.

He frowns hard at me. 'What in God's name are you sorry for?'

I gulp. 'I'm sorry that you have to do this,' is what I say, although that doesn't even remotely cover it. Strange as it might be, I'm sorry for making him love me. I'm sorry for making him hurt like this.

I think he might have been right when he said love wasn't worth the agony it causes. God knows, I'd do anything not to feel the way I do about him, sometimes. If only to quieten down the incessant noise in my head.

He jerks his head. 'Not nearly as sorry as I am.' And I don't know whether he's talking only about _this_ – this moment - or about everything else, but either way I know he believes it to be true.

He presses his wand to my exposed, pale blue veins-

And invisible hooks gouge into my flesh and rip up my arm, lacing acid into my blood and oh god, please let me remember, but then there's just pain and I force myself to focus every particle of my mind on Avery but then spasms of agony tear out of my wrist-

He pulls his wand away as I scream in pain, dropping my hand like a stone.

I gulp in fresh air, hastily wiping the tears of agony that have escaped onto my cheeks with hands that are now mercifully free of pain.

He doesn't look at me now. I don't know whether he can. Just like the first time he tortured me. He couldn't look me in the eye by the end.

'Will you look at me?' I whisper.

He inhales through his nose, looking at the floor to the left of me. 'Why make this even more difficult than it already is?'

I drag words out of the depths of my soul. 'You once enjoyed doing this to me,' I mutter, shaking so hard I feel as if I could die of it. 'I remember you once gloating over me, telling me that one day you would make me beg for death. And you did, didn't you? Time and time again-'

'Stop right there!' he says curtly, still not looking at me.

But I won't stop.

'You were proud, _so_ proud, that you succeeded in making me hate you more than anything else in the world,' I go on remorselessly. 'Do you remember that? Do you remember slitting my wrists, down in the cellar?'

I peel back the sleeves of my robes, holding up my wrists to show him the criss-crossing scars that decorate them.

'Look,' I say quietly. 'Look at what you did to me, once. You didn't have such profound moral qualms once upon a time, I recall.'

And he does look at me, then. His gaze is caught by the scars on my wrist – scars he once taunted me about.

And from the look on his face, my scars have now left a scar of their own.

'Oh, you make me suffer, you bitch,' he says venomously, furiously. 'Don't remind me of how I used to enjoy this. I can't endure it-'

'Well I had to endure it, time after time!' I say hotly. 'What's once more, after all you've done to me? You can live with everything else you've done – why can't you live with what you've done to me? Surely you've done far worse in your time-'

'For god's sake,' he says, a thread of pure desperation in his words, 'I can live with everything else I've done, but do you know how it kills me to live with the knowledge of what I've done to you? I don't want to hurt you. I love you.'

And with those words, those three words I've been literally dying to hear, I feel all the air being sucked out of me, and suddenly I'm floating in the dark, and there's no air in my lungs, and then there's Avery's face in front of me – not blank, not expressionless, but transported with unholy joy.

_-Your silence is golden, Hermione-_

I feel myself being sucked back into my body, and my head falls forward so suddenly it wrenches my neck.

He's in front of me in a heartbeat, grabbing hold of me by both arms. 'What is it?' he asks swiftly. 'What did you see?'

I gasp in several deep breaths. 'I heard something… just something small-' I shake my head, like trying to get water out of my ears. 'Do it again.'

He frowns at me. 'Just tell me what you saw-'

'No!' I say hotly. 'It's about to break through properly, I know it. It's happened to me before, remember? When you and Draco were torturing me. I'll get the memory back if you just push me a little further.'

His lips are the thinnest, most severe of lines. 'I don't-'

Without thinking, I reach out and thud my fists against his chest, furious at him. 'It's going to break through, don't you get it? Don't just stand there. Do it!' I beat at him even harder. 'Bloody do it!'

His face goes rigid, and he flexes his wand at me, one last time. 'Crucio!'

And as pain crashes on my body like a white-hot wave, I feel the fragile binding on my mind snap, and it all suddenly falls into place.

_-Pregnancy is known to cause the most extreme mood swings.. Now what I want to know is – whose is it? Because as far as I can see, there are only a few possible candidates for that…ah, honour - - - if it's not mine, it's not Draco's, and it's not Weasleys, then whose could it be? …Would you care to name him for me?_

_-Your silence is golden, Hermione-_

_-I confess, I have often found myself assuming that the Dark Lord had made a mistake.. Whatever would Lucius Malfoy – proud, ruthless aristocrat Lucius Malfoy – want with a clumsy, awkward, silly little Mudblood?_

_..The Dark Lord always knows, Hermione - - Do not ask me for help.. Nobody - not me, nor God, nor even Lucius - can save you now.._

_-Obliviate!-_

I swim up through mist and fog, and when I break through to cold consciousness I can feel Lucius' arms around me, and I can feel his heartbeat roaring in my ear as he holds me to his chest.

'Lucius?' I say urgently.

He tenses, and holds me out in front of him, looking deeply into my eyes.

'Are you alright?' he asks, before anything else.

I nod with a calmness I don't feel. My blood pounds so hard through my veins I feel light-headed. It's over. Everything's over. Oh my god. 'It came to me,' I say rapidly. 'He knows. I'm so sorry, he knows. He pinned me to the wall, and he forced my eyes open, and he guessed I was pregnant and read the truth of the paternity through occumelencey-'

His fingers bite into my shoulder so hard I gasp, and his eyes slide away from me, black with fear and hate and every dark emotion he possesses in his poisoned soul.

'I'm so sorry, I tried-'

'I know,' he cuts me off, swiftly. He closes his eyes for a second and inhales swiftly before he opens them again, muttering without looking at me. 'Well, that's it then.' His voice is quiet. Resolved. 'We leave. We leave together, and we leave tonight.'

I gape at him, hardly able to believe my ears. 'Tonight?' I breathe the word.

He locks his gaze onto mine, and he nods. 'Tonight. When the sun sets and the boat can take us over the river.'

'And until then?' I whisper shakily.

He smiles grimly. 'Until then we have no option but to wait.'


	46. Before the Storm

'_Something had occurred which changed the pivot of the universe for their two natures… something which was based upon a more stubborn and resistless tendency than a whole heap of so-called practicalities. A veil had been whisked aside; the tract of each one's outlook was to have a new horizon thenceforward.'_ – Thomas Hardy, _Tess of the D'Urbervilles_

_All passengers aboard the vessel must abandon ship. Anyone that remains on board will be left in the hands of god._

* * *

I am a saturated sponge – I can't soak up any more information. Too much has happened in the past twenty four hours for me to process any more. I'm still having trouble believing that only last night I told Lucius about the baby.

His grip around my shoulders tightens and he pulls me towards him, enfolding me in his arms greedily.

I gasp, and I have no idea why.

'Can we really do this?' I whisper.

There's a slight pause.

'I won't let them hurt you,' he mutters. 'I'll get us out of here. Trust me. It'll be alright.'

'How will it?'

There's a long silence as he loses himself in thought. I just close my eyes and let myself sink into his grip. I feel him lean his chin on the top of my head.

'All we can do is wait until sunset,' he says eventually. 'And then we'll go immediately to the lake, and hope to god that we manage to call the boat out before Avery returns.'

I open my eyes, curving my fingers around a fold in his robes for comfort. 'Will he even be able to call a boat out in the first place? He's not a member of the family-'

He laughs shortly. 'I'm sure that won't be a problem. No doubt he's taken Bellatrix with him. I am certain that's the real 'mission' she's been on today. She's gone with Avery to watch him deliver the news she's suspected for months to the Dark Lord.'

My heart thumps out of rhythm with terror.

'But we have an advantage,' he goes on. 'They do not know that we are aware of their knowledge about the pair of us. They are not aware of a need for haste – but _we_ are. Therefore, we might just be able to call the boat out before they do. We will cross the river, hope not to meet them on the opposite bank, and then we shall be free, you and I.'

I let that sink in.

He makes it sound so simple.

Free. Me and him. I shall be free of my prison, and he shall be free of his.

But…

'And Ron,' I say quietly. It's a statement, not a question.

I feel him tense. He pulls back from me, his eyes like flint.

'Excuse me?' he asks tightly.

'You heard me. We'll take Ron with us. I won't leave without him,' is my unwavering reply.

His face arches with anger. 'Tell me something.' His voice is hard. 'If Avery already knows what is going on between us, and I'm going to come with you anyway, then what on earth would be the point in bringing _Weasley_ with us? It will only jeopardise our own escape-'

'I won't leave without him!' I repeat, my voice raised. 'If we manage to escape, then they'll move him from here immediately, before I can tell the Order where he's being kept. He might never be found again. This is _his_ last chance of freedom, too!'

Something very hard and cold creeps into his eyes. 'What is it to _me_ if he's never found again? For all I care, they can kill him tomorrow.'

At those words I shake myself out of his arms furiously.

'Listen to me,' I say, my voice like iron, 'if you won't help Ron escape with us, then I will hang myself as soon as our baby is born. I mean it, Lucius. Regardless of what there is between me and you, I love Ron, and I will not leave him here to die, not after everything he's meant to me, and everything he's done for me.'

He says nothing for a minute, but when he speaks again his voice is like ice.

'Very well.' He pauses. 'But you must promise me that when we are free of this place, you will never see him again.'

My stomach contracts.

'Is this how it's always going to be?' I ask. 'You giving me orders, and expecting me to obey them?'

He waves a dismissive hand. 'Of course not,' is his answer, but somehow deep inside of me I know that it will take him perhaps forever to come to terms with a relationship with me that places us on equal footing.

Well there's no time like the present to start trying to change things. Besides, I won't stop seeing Ron. Not for the world.

I shake my head. 'Well, I won't promise you that,' I murmur. 'Ron's my friend; my best friend. And I won't cut him off from me just because you want me to. I would never do that to him.'

He takes a sharp intake of breath, as if to rid himself of a physical pain. 'Tell me,' he murmurs, 'and tell me honestly – is this whole thing a trick of yours?'

I blink. 'I beg your pardon?'

'This – _us_,' he says haltingly. 'How am I to know that this whole thing hasn't been a trap you've set up for me to procure your freedom?' He fixes me with an ice-like stare. 'How am I to know that you won't just abandon me for Weasley as soon as we are out of here?'

I stand stock still, frozen to the core.

I feel dead.

I clear my throat, and for a moment I'm so hurt I just don't know what to say.

His gaze clears as he shakes his head, and he seems to come back to himself.

'No,' he mutters. 'That can't be. For why would you push me to come with you if that were the case?'

'Yes, exactly,' I say sharply.

He looks me straight in the eye. 'I'm sorry-'

But I cut him off. 'So you should be! For God's sake, Lucius!'

He looks as if I've slapped him. And for a few moments, we both stand in silence.

Oh, what were we thinking? This can't really work between us, can it? We can't go two minutes without wanting to kill each other.

He takes a breath, then he reaches into the pocket of his robes, pulling out the transportation key. 'I'll go and tell him to prepare himself, then,' he says shortly.

'You promise? I won't leave unless-'

'Yes, I promise!' he snaps back, before he disappears in a flickering red glow.

I clench and unclench my hands by my side.

This is stupid. This whole thing… god. I mean, how could we _really _make a go of this? Me and him, out in the real world…

And even if we _could _live with each other, and somehow make this work, no-one's going to understand. We're never going to be left alone. I can hear their voices now…

_-Stupid girl - dirty old man - once a Death Eater, always a Death Eater - always seemed such a nice girl-_

I shake my head, like I'm trying to get water out of my ears.

It doesn't matter. It doesn't. Not really. And it doesn't matter that Lucius and I are probably only going to make each other really unhappy. It doesn't matter, because all I know is that I'll die if I don't have him near me. It sounds melodramatic, but it's no figure of speech. How could there be a world for me without him, now?

It's a long while before he returns – a long while I've only got my own mess of a mind to keep me company.

But when he does return his face is calm, unlike when I last saw him, and he carries his invisibility cloak folded over his arm.

'It's done,' he mutters. 'I have told him to prepare himself to leave in an hour.' He gestures with the arm that holds the cloak. 'We'll need this. Just in case of an emergency.'

I press my lips together. 'How did he take it?'

He raises an eyebrow. 'I made it clear I would accept no questions on the matter, and so he asked none. But he knows that the plan has changed, and that we are to leave tonight. And he knows that when we go to fetch him he is to move swiftly and to make no trouble.'

I nod. At least… at least Ron doesn't know I'm going to be with Lucius and not him. No, he doesn't know yet.

_You can't put it off forever._

'What about Draco?' I ask, desperate to quieten down the noise in my head.

He raises his chin. 'I doubt very much that we'll meet him on the bank of the lake, which is the only instance I can think of where he might cause problems for us,' he says smoothly. 'And if we _do _meet him there, I will have no problems subduing him.'

I narrow my eyes at him. 'You'd-'

'A stunning spell would suffice,' he says curtly. 'Anything stronger would be unnecessary.'

'Lucius, he's your son.'

He shrugs. 'He's not a skilled fighter.'

I shake my head in exasperation, before I look at him closely.

His eyebrows snap together.

'What is it?'

'It's just-' I stutter. 'You… when we get out of here, are you going to see him again?'

He frowns, hard, and I realise he hasn't thought about it. He genuinely hasn't considered whether he'll ever see his son again-

God, what kind of father is he going to be to our child?

'And your wife?' I say quietly, not wanting to pursue that thought.

He frowns even harder. 'Narcissa will… I will take what money we need to survive, and I shall leave her the rest. She will want for nothing. It's the least I can do for her.'

'But she might want you-' I start desperately, but in a moment he's got me in his arms again, holding me close, so close I can barely breathe for it.

'She's not stupid,' he murmurs. 'She must be aware…'

He trails off, then looks me in the eye.

'She never loved me, you must know that,' he says bluntly.

'How do you know?' I whisper. 'You can't-'

'I know, believe me,' he says, with such utter finality I know I have no option _but_ to believe him. He must have his reasons. There must be twenty years of history between those two that I know nothing about.

Defeated, I lean my head heavily on his chest, feeling the heart that beats beneath layers of luxurious robe throb against my cheek.

Heart.

_His _heart.

Those are two words I would never have put together, once upon a time. I would have sworn that he didn't have a heart at all, until he finished things with me to keep me from harm.

He plants a kiss on the top of my head as his arm encircles my waist.

'It's going to be alright, Hermione.'

I weave my fingers into his, pulling his arm tighter around me.

'No more 'Mudblood', then?' I murmur.

There's a slight pause.

'No more 'Mudblood',' he agrees.

So this is it, then. This is my ultimate victory.

I don't know how I should feel. Elated, proud, perhaps even angry…

I lift my face to look into his, and he's looking at me with such protective longing that I know my triumph to be final and absolute. No longer Mudblood but Hermione. He's returning to me the humanity he deprived me of in the first place.

I rise up and kiss him lightly on the lips before I lean my head on his chest again, pulling his hand onto my stomach, not realising exactly what I'm doing until I feel his fingers tense.

I hold my breath while I wait, his fingers locked under my own.

Will he ever accept this child? I mean _really_ accept it? He might want to be with me, but does that mean…?

He lets out a sigh, and I feel his fingers relax under mine, lacing over my belly.

My eyes start to sting.

I don't mention it. I don't want to shatter this moment of reluctant acceptance. And so I swallow, and I try to get a logical order to any thoughts of the future I've let myself entertain.

'Have you thought about… where we could live?' I say haltingly.

There's a slight pause. I don't dare to look at him.

'I don't know,' he murmurs. 'We'll have to go into hiding until the war ends, and hope to god that when it does so the Order shall emerge triumphant.' He breathes a tiny, joyless note of laughter. 'To think I would see the day when I'd hope and pray for a victory from the _Order_…'

He trails off. I clear my throat.

'If the war's still going on after the baby's born, I'll want to go and fight for them-'

'You will do no such thing,' he cuts me off. 'The Death Eaters will be looking for you as it is. If you fight for the Order, you'll be putting yourself in the direct line of fire-'

'I won't forgive myself if I don't fight with them,' I say, lifting my head to face him. 'So if you want to protect me from your former friends, then you'll have to fight alongside me and the rest of your former enemies.'

He curses under his breath and turns his gaze from me, but after a few moments he gives me an answer.

'Fine,' he says shortly.

And that's all he says on the matter.

He sighs, and he looks at me again.

'What in god's name have you done to me?' he whispers, shaking his head.

But I don't need to answer him. Because he knows the answer as well as I do. I've saved him. As arrogant as it sounds, I've saved him from what he was.

I've saved him by destroying his life.

I reach for his free hand and I bring his fingers to my lips, kissing them lightly. He lets out a shaky breath, and I look into his eyes.

'No-one's going to accept us,' I whisper. 'We're going to have to put up with everybody's judgement for the rest of our lives.'

His eyes narrow. 'As long as they do not try to harm you, then they can think what they like. They don't understand us. Nobody does.'

I smile a sad smile. 'To be honest, neither do I.'

He smiles back grimly, but says nothing more on that subject. It was always me who had the greater understanding of our relationship. I realise that now. I was never the one in denial about how I felt, or what was going on.

Well, it doesn't matter if no-one understands or accepts us. I love him. All of him. And we'll be each other's lives from now on.

'And you _do_ love me?' I whisper, clutching at his hand.

He leans in and kisses me hard on the forehead. 'Yes,' he says against my skin.

I sigh, closing my eyes.

We stay like this for ages, with his lips against my forehead. I feel his breath lightly brush against my hair.

'If I had my way, we'd stay like this forever,' I whisper.

I feel him exhale. 'So would I. But we're not free to choose.'

* * *

Of course, we _cannot _stay this way forever. And so of course, in the end, as I know he must, he draws back from me and pulls his fob watch from his cloak, looking at it briefly before snapping it shut.

'It's time,' he says shortly, before pulling out the transportation key, looking into my eyes. 'This is it. Take my hand.'

I do as he says, and as we press into the airless void that will take us to wherever we need to go, I feel a thrill of anticipation and of terror. Oh god, we're doing it. We're really doing it.

We come to land in a room that looks almost identical to my own, but with one exception.

'Ron.'

At the sound of my voice he turns, but the expression of joy on his face flickers as soon as he sees me hand in hand with Lucius and oh Christ, I have to tell him… but not _now_, please…

He realises. Not now. Now is not the time for us to talk. He looks up at Lucius, his face firm.

'Now?' is all he asks.

Lucius nods grimly. 'Now,' is his reply. 'Take her hand.'

Ron strides over to me and takes my fingers in his, giving me a firm, thin lipped smile of reassurance, and then all three of us, the pair of them linked by me, press into darkness, and we float and fall-

We land on cold pebbles. I blink several times, my eyes adjusting to the eerily beautiful blue light that seems to emanate from the lake itself.

Lucius drops my hand without a word and walks swiftly over to the lake. He takes the knife he keeps in his boot and rips open a wound in his arm, dripping his blood into the water.

'I am one of the most noble and ancient house of Black-'

I feel Ron nudge me, but I don't look at him. I don't dare to. I know what he's going to ask.

'He's escaping too, then?' he asks, his voice very small.

I shift my feet uncomfortably. 'Looks that way.'

I still can't look at him. I keep my eyes fixed on Lucius.

'Christ knows what he's going to do,' Ron says in a low voice. 'I mean, it's not as if he's got anywhere to go-'

'I don't think he has a choice, Ron,' I say. I know it's cowardly, but I just want this conversation to end. I'll deal with it when I have to.

'I know. I mean, I guessed…' He trails off for a moment, and I turn involuntarily to look at him.

He's staring at me, his eyes very dark.

'They've found out about you both, haven't they?'

Wordlessly, I nod.

He inhales sharply through his nose.

'So… I guess…' He raises his eyes to the darkness above us, as if to distract himself. 'What with the baby and everything, well… I guess you'll want to stay with him-'

'No!' I say quickly, automatically. Stupid and selfish, I know, but what else can I say?

I clear my throat. 'I mean… well, no.'

He looks at me, his face bright with hope.

'No?' he says.

Oh god, I just want to die.

But… but I can't tell him news that will break his heart _now_, can I? I'll tell him when we get out of here – when I can do it properly…

'It's here.'

Lucius' words fortunately give me the excuse to end the conversation.

I turn and I watch the black outline of the boat emerge out of the mist than sits on the lake's surface, and as it eventually bumps softly on to the bank.

God, it's small – much smaller than I remember… too small…

'We're not all three of us going to fit in there,' Ron says.

Lucius' lip curls. 'Indeed, although this would not be an issue if you didn't insist on coming with us-'

'It's not _me _who's insisting on me coming, it's Hermione!' Ron retorts. 'And it's not as if _you_ have to come with us, Malfoy-'

'Be quiet, the pair of you!' I snap. 'We can't waste time here arguing. We're just going to have to make two trips, with Lucius going on both of them so he can call the boat out.'

Lucius' eyes narrow to slits. 'I don't see why I should risk my life and yours for _him-_'

I turn to him. 'You know why,' I say through barely open lips. 'Please, just do it.'

He stares at me for a moment, before he swears and takes me by the arm, pulling me into the boat with him. I stare at Ron over my shoulder as I climb in with Lucius.

'He'll come back for you within five minutes, Ron – I promise you,' I say rapidly.

He smiles, but his eyes are skittish. Scared. 'It's going to be okay, Hermione.'

I nod, and I smile, making a real effort to pull back my lips, and I sit down in the boat with Lucius as it floats across the water, only turning away from Ron when he disappears behind the dark mist.

I lift my head up to face Lucius. 'Thank-you,' I whisper.

He frowns at me, but he nods, before taking my hand in his.

This is the second time he's taken my hand in this boat. He's done it once before, long ago…

As if he knows what I'm thinking, he speaks.

'So long ago now,' he murmurs. 'Do you remember?'

'Remember?' I ask.

Do I remember? Do I remember when I was bruised and bloody by his hand, and he decided to spare my life when Voldemort told him he could kill me? Do I remember the moment I realised that he cared for me, even if only on some twisted level I didn't, couldn't understand?

'Yes,' I whisper. 'I remember.'

I squeeze his fingers. I can see the pain brimming in his eyes.

'I have hurt you,' he says quietly. 'I am sorry for it.' He clears his throat. 'It was… not what I wanted. Not by the last time we were in this boat, at least-'

'I know,' I whisper. 'It's okay. I forgive you for it. All of it.'

But his reply is not what I expect.

'Don't,' he whispers. 'I don't want you to forgive me. Not after what I have done to you.'

He stops abruptly. I open my mouth, but I don't know what to say. And so I just turn, and I look out over the river, seeing the vague outline of the trees emerging on the opposite bank as we come out of the cave and into the open air.

I feel him tense behind me, and see his fingers close around his wand by his side…

But it's okay. There's no one there. We've beaten them. We've managed to get there first.

I feel Lucius relax, just a little.

I look up. It's dusk. The sky is a dark dusty blue, with vague pinpricks of stars just starting to show.

It looks like I'll have to wait until the dawn until I see the sun again.

But I _will _see it. I will. I'll see the sun rise with Lucius… and we're going to be free.

Free.

It's enough to make me feel giddy.

The boat bumps gently onto the bank, and Lucius steps smartly out of it, giving me his hand to help me up. Blades of grass scratch my feet as he pulls me over to the dense collection of trees and bushes that create the opening of the forest that lies on the bank.

'Now, put this on.' He turns to me, throwing the invisibility cloak over me. 'Stay here, and don't make a sound, even if you think you're alone.'

Wordlessly I pull the cloak over me, shielding myself from the rest of the world. He looks over me quickly, before he nods.

'Good,' he whispers, before turning back to the boat. 'Wait for me. I shall be as quick as I can.'

He makes his way back over to the boat and he climbs in, pushing it off from the bank with his foot. It sails silently across the water, decreasing in size until it eventually disappears, becoming at one with the inky mist that sits on the water.

I stand stock still, huddled up in the cloak. It's going to be alright. I think – I hope…

God, I never, ever thought I would get out of there. Never.

I close my eyes.

It doesn't seem real. It feels like I'm watching all this happen to another Hermione. Perhaps the Hermione that once existed, or something. I don't know.

I think about her sometimes, the girl I once was. Hermione. Hermione Granger. Seventeen years old. Naïve. Brave. So proud, so clever, so resourceful, yet so insecure. Harry Potter and Ron Weasley were the centre of her world. She had parents that loved her.

Now that girl's been erased. And who's left in her place?

Hermione. Hermione Granger. Eighteen years old. Old beyond her years. Brave because she has to be – because she has learned what it really is to fear. A bundle of nerves, afraid of her own shadow. Lucius Malfoy is the centre of her world. She has no parents. She's going to be a teenage mother.

'I am one of the most noble and ancient house of Black,' a strong, clear voice rings out. 'I request passage over the river.'

My eyes fly open. I swear to god, I almost swallow my own tongue.

What… what?

I turn my head to the side.

Bellatrix and Avery. Both of them standing there on the bank. Bellatrix rolls her sleeve over a fresh gash in her arm, stopping the _drip drip drip_ of her blood as it lands in the river, and they both step back, taking shelter in the bushes and trees next to me, barely a few feet away from me.

I huddle deeper in the invisibility cloak, every atom of my being rigid and screaming with terror.

I don't even dare to breathe.

'Just how long is this going to take?' Avery mutters.

'It should be here soon,' she whispers back.

There's a pause. Oh my fucking god, we're stuck. Lucius and Ron are literally going to come sailing into a trap.

I can't breathe… I can't think-

'It's usually quicker to emerge than this, isn't it?' Avery says after perhaps thirty seconds, I don't know. 'Perhaps it's otherwise occupied.'

'What _are_ you talking about?' Bellatrix hisses.

'I mean, my dear Bellatrix, that Lucius might have called the boat out for some reason or other-'

'What possible reason could he have to call it out, if he has no work to do this evening?' she says. 'Unless you've proved to be incompetent at something as simple as a memory charm-'

'Please don't insult me. Memory charms aren't the most reliable branch of magic, as well you know.'

'So what are you saying? That he could be attempting an escape?'

He doesn't answer her immediately.

'It's a possibility.'

She snorts with what could be derision or bad temper.

What can I do? Could I run for help… no. It'll be too late by the time I manage to get back here. Oh Christ, think, Hermione, think!

'It's obscene, isn't it?' Bellatrix huffs. 'That there's even a distinct possibility that Lucius Malfoy – _Lucius Malfoy! _– would risk everything to help a Mudblood. Him! After everything he's done for the cause-'

'Such fanaticism, Bella,' Avery murmurs. 'Who would have thought that loyalty would be such a strong point of yours?'

I can almost feel the air between them freeze.

I don't care. What am I going to do? How the hell am I going to warn Lucius and Ron?

Perhaps I could warn him visibly, before the boat reaches the shore… without revealing myself to _them_…

Moving as quietly as possible, I try to peek over the top of the bush I'm crouched next to, trying to gauge the exact distance between us.

'What's _that _supposed to mean?'

I can see them… god, they're closer than I thought. They're only a few meters away. I can see the fine lines of the frown between Bellatrix's eyebrows.

'Oh please, don't play the insulted honourable woman,' Avery mutters, his voice like gently tinkling bells. 'I daresay the whole world knows about you and Lucius' shared history.'

Perhaps I could wave and warn Lucius… but surely he'll see them at the same time he sees me, and he'll be able to react quicker if I'm not there to distract him-

'How on earth do _you_ know about that?'

'You know I make it my business to know everything.' I can hear the smirk in his voice. 'And let's face it – you've hardly been discreet over the matter, have you? I daresay even your sister knows about it.'

'She does not-'

'You're certain of that?'

They're interrupted when the waves breaking on the shore seem to increase in size.

I look over the lake, and I can see the dark shadow of the boat in the distance, oh god, oh my god, what am I going to _do?_

Perhaps… perhaps I could go and get help-

But as I take a step back a branch cracks under my foot.

Avery's head snaps towards me.

I freeze where I am, holding my breath to the depths of my lungs.

'What's the _matter _with you?' Bellatrix snaps.

Avery's eyes narrow before he turns back to her. 'I thought I heard something-'

'For God's sake, it'll just be an animal. Be quiet, it's coming over.'

Oh for the love of god, what can I do? Shall I call out a warning, or could I try to take them on – of course I can't. Thanks to Lucius, I don't have my fucking wand-

'There's someone in there,' Avery whispers. And he's staring at the boat.

Both of them duck down very suddenly, hiding themselves in the bushes.

Oh god.

'It's him,' Bellatrix whispers. 'And… there's someone else, but… hold on-'

'Weasley,' Avery whispers back.

'Good god, what-'

'It doesn't matter,' Avery mutters. 'We'll find out soon enough.'

Lucius and Ron's faces come slowly into focus. Both of them look angry, but with none of the fear I know they'd have if they knew Avery and Bellatrix were waiting for them.

I watch, my mind buzzing numbly, as the two men I love sail directly into danger.

'We need to get him back to the house,' Avery whispers, 'and it looks like we'll have to do it by force. But however it's done, it must be done before the Dark Lord arrives.'

Voldemort. Voldemort's coming-

That's it. I do all I _can_ do.

'LUCIUS!' I scream, and both his and Ron's heads swivel to the bank. 'THEY'RE HERE! THEY'RE-'

'STUPEFY!'

'PROTEGO!'

Avery and then Lucius' voices crack into the air like pistol shots, and all of a sudden spells are flying to and from the boat, which draws ever closer, swaying perilously from side to side-

I watch, frozen, my feet stuck to the ground for sheer terror, and it all happens so fast – a huge splash as Ron leaps overboard, disappearing beneath the surface of the water, Lucius leaping from the boat, wading waist deep through water, his face white and furious, his wand a blur as he send out spell after spell-

And all of a sudden a jet of red light, god only knows which wand it comes from, hits him squarely in the chest, and his body curls up, falling on its side in the water with a huge splash.

I stand where I am, barely able to breathe, shaking and shaking. My body hurts with the shaking.

I should have moved – I should have stopped them, but it all happened so fast, and I-

Bellatrix wades into the water and pulls Lucius out, breathing harshly with the effort, laying him on the grass when she gets his limp form to the bank.

I need to think – thinking hurts – oh god, is he, is he-

He's breathing. He's alive. I can see the rise and fall of his chest.

I look out at the river. Ron's nowhere to be seen. Is he alive, or-

I can't see him.

I can't process the fact.

I can't process anything.

I can't even _breathe_, for god's sake.

I see Avery turn and walk into the forest behind him, and Bellatrix stands over Lucius and gives him a hard kick in the ribs, crowing with laughter.

'Idiot,' she mutters. 'Did you really think you could humiliate _me _the way you have done?'

I suck in a tiny, almost mute sob. I need to get out of here – to go and get help. But how could I leave them? – I can't, can't, _won't_-

I feel a whispering slither run over my head, over my body, and I know then that I'm dead.

'Good evening, Hermione.'

I look down at my now visible, shaking hands, and I swallow hard.

I turn to look into Avery's face. Blank, as always. Blank, with the tiniest fire of triumph in his eyes, and he folds the invisibility cloak he just pulled off of me over his arm.

'I thought I'd heard someone nearby,' he murmurs. 'And when I saw that you were not in the boat with him, I knew you must be here already. For why would he leave without you – the one thing he cares about in the whole world?'

I mouth a word, but no sound passes my lips.

'Please…'

He smiles blandly. 'Your assumptions of the ability to change my mind would be comical if it weren't for the fact that it has already proved successful on those of a weaker will.' He points his wand at me. 'Put your arms up, please. The Dark Lord is coming, and he expects us back at the house.'

Slowly, with useless tears rolling down my cheeks, I raise my hands into the air.


	47. Day of Judgement

'_Some say the world will end in fire,  
Some say in ice.  
From what I've tasted of desire  
I hold with those who favor fire.  
But if it had to perish twice,  
I think I know enough of hate  
To say that for destruction ice  
Is also great  
And would suffice.'_ – Robert Frost, _Fire and Ice_

* * *

They're alive. That's all I can cling on to. They're both still alive.

The only question is, how long for?

The three of us sit in three separate cages made of the finest silvery thread that looks like it could snap in your hand, but it can't. Of course it can't. It's stronger than iron, and just as unbreakable.

I know that it is. I've tried to break it several times, much to Bellatrix and Avery's amusement.

Actually, Lucius and Ron aren't _sitting _in their cages. That's a somewhat inaccurate description. They're sprawled on the ground, both still unconscious.

But breathing, at least.

I knew there was no hope for Lucius. I knew that as soon as the stunning spell hit him. But I hoped that Ron might manage to escape, at least.

But he couldn't remain hidden under the water forever. All Bellatrix and Avery had to do was wait for him to emerge, coughing and spluttering.

They stunned him when he put up a fight.

And so here we are. In the _cellar_, of all places.

It makes me ache to think how close we were to getting out of here.

Bellatrix prowls up and down the room like a tiger in a cage, Lucius's wand loose in her fingers, along with her own. In contrast Avery stands perfectly still, examining his fingernails.

She turns to him suddenly. 'Go and fetch Draco.'

He raises an eyebrow. 'Draco?'

She nods, drawing a transportation key out of her robes. It could be either hers or Lucius' – she filched his from his unconscious body when we arrived back here. 'Take this and go and fetch him,' she says curtly. 'He should see this.'

Avery takes the key. 'Are you sure about this, Bella?' he says. 'Wouldn't it be a little… unkind of you to make him see-'

'If I wanted your advice I would ask for it,' she snaps. 'I'm his aunt, and I shall decide what he shall or shall not see. He needs to know his father for what he is before he dies.'

'As you wish,' Avery says smoothly. 'But I just want you to be aware that I registered my doubts.'

'What possible reason could I have to regret my decision?' she hisses.

'None at all,' he replies, smiling, 'as long as you don't care what your nephew thinks of you.'

He disappears with a flicker of red.

She glares at the space he's recently vacated for a few moments, before she shakes her head and turns to me.

'So, Mudblood,' she says, her eyes glittering. 'Here we are, at last.'

She takes a step towards me.

'I knew that something was going on, I just _knew_ it. I just needed proof, and lo and behold, one day it falls into my lap in the form of an unborn half-blood!' Her smile flickers. 'It seems I have to congratulate you. Even _I _couldn't have managed _that _for him. _Bravissimo!_'

I steel myself. 'Yes. You were right, Bellatrix.' I keep my eyes on her face. 'You were right, all along. Lucius left you for a Mudblood. There. Does that give you satisfaction?'

'You might as well brag,' she retorts. 'It's all you have left to do, now. And soon enough, you won't even be able to do that.'

She licks her lips feverishly.

'I am aware that he wasn't mine to take,' I say, as calmly as I can. 'But I didn't take him from _you._ I took him from your sister.'

'Don't talk back to me, you little brat!' she shouts suddenly. 'Do you really think I give a damn about what you have to say to me? What do I care what an ugly little throwback thinks of _me_?'

She steps forwards, and I flinch as she raises her wand… but she checks herself, lowering her hand.

'I would kill you now if I did not long to witness his reaction upon seeing you die,' she spits. 'Believe me, I doubt I'll ever sleep again for satisfaction.'

She turns around, glaring at Lucius' unconscious body.

'Time after time I've wanted to slap you,' she says viciously, switching her words to him. 'To shake some sense into you after being taken in by her. When you could have had _me!_ Thousands of men would kill to have a chance with me, and you turned me away.'

She turns back to me, jumping tracks once again.

'And instead he chose you.' Her lips spasm into a kind of rigid, furious sneer. '_You! _A sniveling, useless little girl. Incapable of holding onto her dignity, forgetting her self-respect and her morals in the face of the smallest amount of pain.'

I turn my head away, covering my ears, but I can't block her out.

'There is nothing – _nothing!_ – that I would not endure before doing what you did! You betrayed your friends, your allies; the very cause you're fighting for! And then you crawled, sobbing, at the feet of your enemy. You let him see you beg for mercy. Have you no _pride_, Mudblood?'

My lips involuntarily let out a tiny sob, and she smiles a hateful smile.

'I would never in a million years let him see me cry,' she says.

I glare at her as I find something I can say in triumph.

'Perhaps that was the problem.'

'What the hell is _that_ supposed to mean?'

I take a deep breath. 'Perhaps if you'd ever shown any emotion at all other than anger and hatred, then he might have felt inclined to care about you.'

She screams with laughter. It makes me wince.

'Oh yes, I forgot, he _cares _about you!' she crows. 'Look at you. So _proud_ of being Lucius Malfoy's dirty little secret. What have you to be proud of? All you are is an easy little Mudblood he wanted only for the thrill of the forbidden. And now you've spread your legs for him and he's had what he wanted but he's been caught out, and so he's got no choice but to run away with you. Don't fool yourself that _you're_ the reason he was trying to leave. He was trying only to save his own sorry skin-'

'Don't presume to know what you're talking about,' I interrupt her, quite calmly. 'You don't know him.'

Her face twists with rage. 'How dare you? I've known him for more than twenty years! I knew him intimately before you were even _born_-'

I shake my head, completely sure of myself. 'You don't know him. Not like I do. Nobody does. And I know that he feels _nothing_ for you. He never did.'

She snaps and throws a cutting hex at me. I feel my cheek rip down the middle.

'_You. Do. Not. Know. That!'_ she hisses.

'Yes, I do. Because he went against everything he ever held dear for me. Just for me. He wasn't only going to leave his wife and son for me, but he went against everything he knew – the belief system that was the very center of his existence! And then, after giving up everything, he put both our lives at great risk just so that we might have one chance of a life together!'

I pause, drawing breath.

'Now, Bellatrix Lestrange,' I whisper. '_Now_ you tell me that what the pair of you had was worth one tenth of what I have with him.'

She raises her wand. 'You little-'

'Don't you touch her!'

I start at that voice.

She spins around, and I look over her shoulder to see Lucius standing in his cage. Upright and proud, glaring at her.

'Oh, the blood traitor decides to join us, at last!' she crows, triumphant.

He ignores her. He just looks past her, at me.

'Are you alright?' he asks me quietly.

'Oh, come _on!_' she shouts. 'Don't tell me that you give a damn about how she feels when she's literally about to prove to be the death of you!'

The look he gives her is like stone. 'Don't be sore just because it is not _you _I'm inquiring after.'

Her mouth shrinks to a crinkled line. 'I hope you're proud of yourself,' she hisses. 'You've really messed up this time. A half-blood, Lucius? I don't know how you would be able to live with yourself even if there _were_ a chance that you could avoid discovery. If I were you I would have crawled away and died of shame.'

'Calm yourself down, Bella,' he says acidly. 'You'll give yourself a migraine.'

A smile pulls at my lips, but thankfully she doesn't notice.

'Don't you _care_?' she asks. 'Don't you _care _that you're about to die?'

He looks past her to me. 'What does she have?'

'Your wand,' I reply, forcing myself not to care about Bellatrix's triumphant giggle. 'And your key. I'm sorry, I couldn't stop her-'

'Don't worry,' he murmurs. 'I'll think of something. I won't let them hurt you-'

Bellatrix actually screams in rage. 'For God's sake, he's coming for you! Don't you _get _it? How can you give a damn about her when you're going to be dead within twenty-four hours?'

He turns to her with a look so suffused in hatred that she stops her words dead. 'When are you going to realize that you mean _nothing _to me?'

'That's not what this is about-'

'This is always what it's been about with you,' he says. 'Not because you particularly want _me_, but because you're too proud to admit that you have less to offer than she does.'

'How could she have more to offer than _me_? Look at her-'

'Yes, look at her,' Lucius counters. 'Look at that girl and tell me that you're worth more than her. That girl, who has lost her family, endured months of imprisonment, and _still_ has managed to hold on to her sanity and still, after everything, cares more for others than she does for herself!'

We all three of us stand in silence for a while.

She finally works herself up to speak.

'But all those times…' Her voice cracks. 'All those times you said that I was beautiful, and strong, and fearless, and you told me you wanted-'

'I wanted a diversion, Bella,' he cuts across her coldly. 'That's all I ever wanted from you. And believe me, once I had what I wanted it wasn't long before I realized you weren't worth my trouble.'

She doesn't answer for a moment. Her lips move furiously around soundless words.

'You said I was what you wanted,' she whispers eventually.

'I lied,' is his immediate reply.

She swallows, blinking rapidly. 'You bastard! You cruel, unfeeling-'

But a blare of red light cuts her whispered rant short, and in a moment four have become six as two more come to land in the room - Draco, wide-eyed and nervous, and Avery, calm as a snowed-over landscape.

'Draco!' Bellatrix peals out, like a delighted hostess welcoming an old friend to her marvelous dinner party. 'How wonderful that you could join us.'

Draco's eyes dart nervously between his aunt and his father. 'What's going on?'

Her smile widens. 'I'm so glad you're here. I have to say, it wouldn't have been the same without you.'

Draco ignores her. 'Father? What's going on?' he repeats. 'Why are you… in there?'

There's a long pause. But then both Bellatrix and Avery hiss in pain, gripping at their wrists, while Lucius and Draco remain perfectly unmoved.

'He's here,' Avery mutters, and I see Lucius' eyes widen, before they rest on mine. He's afraid.

'You'll have to go and help him cross the lake, Bella,' Avery says.

'Just a moment,' she snaps. 'I've earned the right to see his expression when the news is revealed, I think.'

Avery bows his head, rubbing the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, letting out an exasperated sigh.

'But seeing as the Dark Lord is waiting for my assistance, I'll be brief,' she says, and then releases the secret she's kept under lock and key for months. 'Draco, your father has been fucking the Mudblood.'

Draco's face turns as white as fresh paper.

'What's more, it's been going on for months,' she goes on. 'Going against his marriage vows, and against the rules of our cause, he's been groping a Mudblood the same age as his own son.'

Lucius curses under his breath. But Draco's reaction isn't what I expect. He just lets his breath out in a rush, and shakes his head.

'You've been telling me that for months now, Auntie. But I know that it's not true. He told me, and I believe him-'

'Your father's a professional liar, Draco. You know that.'

Draco still shakes his head. 'It's not true-'

'Then why do you think he's imprisoned, you stupid boy?' she snaps.

His eyes widen, despite himself. 'But-'

'Bella!' Avery interrupts. 'He'll be waiting for you. You do not have time to waste here. Go.'

She turns to him as if she's about to start shouting at him, but after a second she shuts her mouth like a trap, throws a vicious grin at Lucius over her shoulder, and exits the room, leaving a horrified silence in her wake.

My hand snakes over my stomach.

I should have got rid of it when I had the chance.

But would it really have made any difference to anything? Avery would have found out anyway, wouldn't he?

'Father?' Draco's voice is a thin wheedle.

Lucius ignores him. He turns to lean one arm against the wall behind him, staring at the stone.

'Father?'

Draco's plea goes ignored.

And so he turns to the only other person in the room he really knows. He turns to me.

'Is it true?' he whispers.

I don't answer him. What on earth is the point? It's all lost, anyway.

'I'm afraid so,' Avery drawls.

Draco swallows. 'But… but he _promised!_' he whines.

Lucius doesn't turn around. This is no more news to him than it is to me. We've heard it all before.

'FATHER!' Draco shouts suddenly, pinpricks of red blooming on his cheeks.

Grey eyes meet grey eyes as Lucius turns to look at his son.

'I asked you,' Draco says furiously, 'and you promised me…'

He trails off, his mouth moving without noise for a few seconds before it manages to form words again.

'Why?'

Lucius breathes out a bitter laugh. '_Why?_' he whispers. 'Draco, isn't it plain enough? Surely it should be obvious to you - a boy who has been so spoiled he's never been refused anything, even something he had no desire for in the first place.'

That stings me a little. I mean… god, it's not as if I wanted _him_, either.

'But-' Draco sputters. 'But you _promised_-'

'Oh, come now,' Avery drawls, smiling at Draco in what I assume is meant to be consolation. 'Surely this cannot come as such a shock to you. After all, even _I_ was surprised at the openness of your father's behaviour. I mean,' he gestures extravagantly, as if he's plucking an example out of the air, 'you must remember when I informed him that sooner or later he'd have to kill the Mudblood? The strength of his reaction was somewhat disconcerting, if you recall-'

'What?' Draco asks, his forehead creasing. 'I mean… are you sure I was there when that happened?'

The cogs in my mind start turning. _I _remember that happening, of course I do, but what actually _happened_ isn't important.

What happened _after_ that is another story in itself.

'You can't tell me that you don't _remember_,' Avery goes on.

'Stop there,' Lucius snaps_._

It's a strange smile that slides onto Avery's face: almost an indulgent one.

'Oh, Lucius, you _didn't_?' he drawls.

'Didn't _what_?' Draco snaps.

Avery's awful smile widens. 'You know, I did wonder why I saw the pair of you looking for him, that evening. But I have to admit, I didn't think you'd go _that_ far.' And then he delivers his killer blow. 'Obliviating your own son.'

Oh god, he _saw_ us?

Lucius glares murderously at Avery. 'You indescribable bastard.'

'So… hang on a second.' Draco's staring at his father as if he's never seen him before. 'I _knew_? Is that what he's saying?'

'Well, I don't know the ins and outs of it,' Avery says effortlessly. 'But I have to admit, it seems peculiar that you do not remember the afternoon I'm describing to you. If I remember correctly the expression on your face at the time seemed to indicate you would never be able to forget it.'

Draco blinks, and brings his hand up to his forehead.

'I can't remember,' he says desperately. 'But… if you _saw_ them…'

He brings his hand back down as he turns to face his father.

'How could you?' Draco whispers.

'How could I _what?_' Lucius says, blunt and cruel. 'How could I sleep with a Mudblood, or how could I wipe away your knowledge of the matter?'

'You know what I'm talking about!' his son hisses back. 'Of course I wouldn't have jumped for joy when I found out about… about _her._' He spits out the last word. 'But for God's sake, don't you _trust_ me?'

Lucius frowns. 'No. I'd be a fool to do so, frankly.'

'I. AM. YOUR. _SON!_' Draco shouts, completely losing it.

'Good god, will you just shut _up?' _Lucius snaps. 'What do you _want_ from me? Remorse? An apology? You won't get either from me, Draco. I have no regrets over obliviating you, because you left me no option but to do so. If I had left you with your memory then I would have put her in danger. And that I would not do.'

Draco stares at his father, ashen-faced. 'So you chose her over me?' he whispers.

Lucius exhales. 'Even when I'm disgraced and chained in front of you, about to die for my sins, you still long for my affection? For god's sake, where's your pride?'

Draco looks as if he's been slapped.

'Quite the hypocrite, aren't you, Lucius?' Avery cuts in. 'Lecturing your son on _pride_, no less.'

'What's that?' Draco yelps as Lucius glares at Avery, his face immersed in hatred.

'She's _pregnant_, Draco,' Avery says.

I close my eyes. I can't look at Draco. I can't…

I have to.

I open my eyes.

He looks physically ill. He swallows down hard, and actually groans.

'You're going to have a younger brother or sister,' Avery says, smiling. 'Isn't that _wonderful?_ You must be very proud; to know that soon mud will run in the Malfoy blood line.'

Draco breathes heavily with what looks like nausea for a few moments.

'Pregnant?' He can barely say the word.

Lucius turns to him without a hint of softness in his face, and he gives him no answer.

'By _you_?' Draco says again, apparently lost for words of any real meaning.

There's a long, horrible silence, and I take deep breaths to try and force the flush of humiliation off of my face.

'Why?' is what he says in the end. 'I mean… why _her?_'

Lucius' lip curls up and he turns his face from his son, back to me.

'I have to admit, Lucius, I can see Draco's point on this matter,' Avery drawls. 'I mean, she's hardly your typical schoolgirl fantasy, is she?'

'I don't have to explain myself to _you_,' Lucius says without looking at Avery, who smiles in return.

'Oh come now, I just want to know what first drew you to her. I'm curious, that's all. Because I have to be honest - looking at her, I certainly wouldn't say she was worth all the trouble she's caused.'

Lucius doesn't take his eyes off of me.

'Or perhaps I can see what it was that drew you in. So… young.' Avery's voice is as soft as a lullaby. 'So… weak. It must have been quite unbearable for you, to have to stay in your room night after night while next door she lay sleeping in her bed. Alone, and young and naïve enough to mould to your desires.'

I swallow sharply. He doesn't know it, but what he's saying sounds horribly familiar to Dolohov's last words.

'That's not what it was,' Lucius says.

'No?' Avery replies.

'Stop it,' Draco says. His face has turned a pale shade of lime.

'Oh now, Draco – can't you see his point of view?' Avery asks. 'She may not be as beautiful as your mother… but look at those eyes.'

Draco glares at me. 'What about them?'

'Leave it, Avery,' Lucius snaps. 'You've got what you wanted; now leave her out of it.'

'The eyes, they say, are the windows to the soul,' Avery goes on, ignoring Lucius completely. 'And hers are particularly… expressive. You can pull faces all you like, Draco, but it's the truth. After going through the things that she has it is no wonder they are so affecting. There's a thousand years of suffering in those eyes.'

'Perhaps it's her eyes that might reveal some of the mystery of why you wanted her, Lucius,' he goes on. 'It must have been such an aphrodisiac, to know the strength of her fear of you. Her eyes would have told you every fear she held in her soul, and most of them would have concerned you.'

A long silence draws out, and I look only at Lucius.

I want to talk to him. I want to tell him everything I've ever felt about him, and I want to know everything he's ever felt about me.

But we can't talk to each other. Ever again. Because they're never going to leave us alone, now.

My hand rises, but I drop it before it can make the gesture it longs to make.

He nods. He understands.

There's a red flickering glow, and suddenly both Avery and Draco are bowing low, although Lucius remains immobile.

The tall figure in black they're bowing to slowly lowers his hood before he removes his cloak and hands it to Bellatrix, who has appeared alongside him with a huge grin on her face.

I'm shaking so hard it hurts.

'So…' Voldemort whispers, turning his red, bottomless eyes from me to Lucius, a mirthless smile stretching his deformed face. 'So…'

His gaze latches onto me for a few moments, before he shakes his head in disgust and turns to Lucius.

'So this is the child that turned you into a traitor, Lucius,' he says.

It's not a question.

Lucius doesn't answer. He just looks at him. No, not looks. Glares. Because his master has become his enemy, now.

A huge, gurgling cough.

Everyone turns to see Ron lift himself up onto all fours, coughing as water streams out of his nose.

Voldemort chuckles. 'I am pleased you are able to join us, Ronald.'

There's a few moments' pause as Ron heaves in great, gulping breaths while rubbing at his head. When he apparently pulls himself together, Voldemort speaks again.

'I have to admit, it wouldn't have been quite the same if all the players in this tragic farce were not present for its finale.'

Ron takes a juddering breath. 'I'll tell you what,' he says, his voice heavy but relatively stable. 'Why don't you cut out all the melodramatic crap, for a change? No-one ever really wants to listen to a drama queen throwing a strop.'

Bellatrix raises her wand furiously, but Voldemort holds his hand out to stop her. He's smiling, but his eyes are devoid of any human feeling.

'We have not spoken together much, you and I,' he says, his voice chilling me to the bone. 'I have to confess – that thought does not bother me. I hardly think your company would be worth my time.'

Ron's face colours, but Voldemort goes on regardless.

'In any case it does not matter, for you will not be with us much longer,' he murmurs. 'Your parents have seen to that.'

That jolts Ron's confidence. His voice shakes when he replies. 'What's that supposed to mean?'

Voldemort smiles. 'It seems you do not mean as much to them as you would hope, my dear boy,' he drawls. 'They've refused to do my bidding one time too many. Now they must see that what I threaten, I will carry out, if my wishes are ignored.'

No. No. Oh please, not him too…

Voldemort turns to Lucius, his red eyes narrowed.

'But I am not here to talk to you, Ronald,' he murmurs. 'I am here for a matter much closer to my interests.'

Lucius glares up at him from behind his cage. But the glare is unreadable. Is it a look of defiance or a look of fear?

'Lucius Malfoy,' Voldemort drawls. 'So… devoted. So proud. Ruthless, efficient, and pure… above all things, pure.'

He pauses. Lucius takes in a sharp breath through his nose before Voldemort makes his next declaration.

'Lucius Malfoy, how you disappoint me.'

Lucius tilts his chin up. 'You forget, my Lord, that despite any mistakes I have made, I have never betrayed you. What I have done affects only myself and the mud… and her.' He pauses. 'I have not done anything to harm your purpose-'

Voldemort shakes his head, almost sadly. 'Oh Lucius, you only dig yourself a deeper grave,' he drawls. 'You insult me by hoping that I might be merciful. Do you suggest that I am not a man of principle?'

'Please!' I shout desperately. 'Please, I beg you… just hear him out, please-'

Voldemort turns to me, smiling. 'Hermione, why on earth would you ask me to show mercy to someone who has treated you the way that he has?'

I take a deep breath. I have to _try._

'Please,' I repeat. 'In all your life, have you never felt for anyone…?'

I trail off. Because a hard look of barren joy leaps into his eyes, and I know there's no point in looking for something that isn't there.

'Oh Lucius, what have you _done_?' he asks. 'I would applaud you, if her blood had been pure. What delightful psychological torture it must be for her! You've made her love her parents' murderer.'

That hits me like a blow to the head. I feel sick, and dizzy. Concussed.

Lucius looks at me for long moments before he turns his eyes to his master.

'You gave me no option but to kill her parents, my _Lord_, if you recall,' he says, his words throbbing with hatred.

'Please don't lay the blame at my door,' Voldemort replies, smoothly and coldly. 'I was quite happy to let _her_ die instead. It was you who insisted that she should survive, no matter what the cost to both our cause and to her. I wondered why you were so insistent at the time, but it seems that even then you were putting your own desires above the cause you so often claimed you were utterly devoted to.'

There's a long pause.

'What do you have to say for yourself?'

I watch Lucius as he draws himself together.

'For myself, I will say nothing,' he eventually says, holding his head high. 'I do not deserve mercy, I know that. But… but I ask only that she be left alone.'

Voldemort smiles, but Lucius carries on speaking, not a tremor in his voice.

'Please,' he says, forgetting his pride. 'In return for all my years of loyal service-'

'Loyal service?' Bellatrix spits out. 'Oh yes, you've shown great _loyalty _over the past few months, haven't you?'

Lucius doesn't even look at her. 'Even though I may have been… involved… with a muggle-born, I've not renounced you, my Lord. I have done everything you have ever demanded of me, and more, without a whisper of protest. I have been pleased to do your work, and I have asked for nothing in return for my services, but now I ask, humbly…'

He pauses and draws breath.

'Please,' Lucius murmurs, 'let _her_ go.'

There's a murmur of incredulous laughter from Bellatrix and Avery. Voldemort just shakes his head almost pityingly.

'I realize that the demand may be too much to accede to,' Lucius says hurriedly. 'But if you cannot release her, then please let her remain alive, at least, even if only as a prisoner.'

I know the answer Voldemort's going to give. I wait for it with a resigned expectancy.

'It is too late, Lucius,' he says, almost simply.

Lucius' cheek twitches. 'Master-'

'It is _too late_,' Voldemort repeats, with absolute finality. 'If you wanted to protect her and to keep her from harm then you should have exercised some self control. You should have realized that the one thing you could have done to assure her destruction would be to allow her to get too close to you.'

He smiles, and he turns to look at me, speaking to me through Lucius. 'If you cared for her at all, then you would have stayed away from her. But then, you always were a selfish man.'

I look away from him. I look at Lucius, the most selfish person I know.

He just looks at me as we both silently acknowledge the truth of the situation.

After all we've been through there is nothing for us to say. And so we say nothing.

'Did you _really_ think that you could keep it a secret? From _me_?' Voldemort asks. 'When you were so indiscreet that everyone in this household either knew or suspected what was going on from the moment you arrived here, if not before? I know that I myself found your behaviour suspect within a week of her capture.'

Strange. I don't know why I didn't realize from the very beginning how Lucius was beginning to feel about me. It seems so simple, when I look back at it. I should have realized the reason behind his antagonism towards Ron. He was so open about it… but I just didn't want to think about it. I let my suspicions fester in my subconscious, coming out to play only in my darkest nightmares.

And then my nightmares became blurred with reality, and I stopped remembering what it was like to have pleasant dreams.

'But I did so _hope_ that I might prove to be mistaken. After all, I didn't want to believe that one of my loyal followers might be swayed to treachery by so slight a temptation.'

He pauses for a second, letting his petty insult sink in. Does he really think it can touch me now?

'It was when you chose to allow her to live when I gave you the option to kill her that you confirmed to me that you were treading on a dangerous path-'

'If I may, my Lord?' Bellatrix cuts in.

Voldemort rolls his eyes, and he waves his hand at her. 'If you must.'

She smiles, her breathing hard and fast. 'It was then that I began to suspect, too. I knew that _something_ was going on, because that evening he arrived here with her… he carried her home – did you know that?'

Avery frowns hard at her, but Voldemort just chuckles.

'Yes, I knew that,' he says.

'And then,' she goes on breathlessly, 'there was that infamous evening at the Weasleys' home. Good god, even my _nephew _began to realize what was going on that evening!'

'What are you implying?' Draco asks sharply.

Everyone ignores him.

'Indeed,' Voldemort murmurs, and then he turns to Lucius. 'That evening's events did prove to be… illuminating. But I'll tell you what finally gave your secret away, Lucius. It was the Mudblood here.'

Everyone turns to look at me as I feel my breathing give out.

Voldemort smiles smoothly, still speaking to Lucius. This is more about him than me, obviously. 'You will remember that I questioned her, I presume?'

I look at Lucius, panic-stricken. He stares back at me long and hard. With anger.

'I didn't say anything. Lucius, I _didn't-_'

'Ah,' Voldemort says, smiling. ''_Lucius_.' Indeed. _'Lucius.'_ You've used that name for him before, and not always to his face. When I questioned you about him you called him by name, and at that point I knew that the pair of you were too close. After all, what prisoner is so familiar with their captor that they're on a first name basis?'

I screw my face up in thought. I can't remember saying that, but… but perhaps I _could_ have. I was so used to calling him by his name by that point I wouldn't have thought twice about it.

Lucius is shaking his head.

'I'm so sorry,' I whisper.

'It's not your fault,' he says.

And I don't believe him – I don't think he believes it himself. But he knows that it's too late to change things now.

Voldemort distracts me when he raises his wand, taking small steps towards me. 'That was the last time we spoke to one another, was it not?' he murmurs. 'You wouldn't give me a straight answer about your relationship with Lucius then. Your replies were so careful – so clever. You might have gotten away with it, too, if it were not for that one blunder of yours.'

He pauses in front of me.

'I want answers, Hermione,' he says, almost simply. 'And this time, they shall be the right ones.'

I look over his shoulder at Lucius.

'Look at me, not him,' Voldemort says curtly.

I do as he says, and I immediately regret it as he raises his wand.

'I want the whole story, this time,' he whispers, before he flicks his wand. '_Legimilens!_'

The spell I've never learned how to defend myself against takes hold of me, holds my mind prisoner, and exposes all the memories I've ever known and all the secrets of my soul…

- - - _hiding under the sinks in the girls' toilets while Ron and Harry fight the troll_- -

-a toddler stares back at me from the mirror, her wiry, springy hair in solid bunches tied with bright ribbons by her mother…

- - - - - - -crying, screaming, bleeding. Lucius' fists tear into my face, and suddenly he's flying backwards, back and away from me as magical current charges through my fingers- -

_Ron's kissing me, oh my god, he's finally… but the door bangs open and Lucius is there, oh, why can't he leave me alone - - _

- - - - -a hand runs over my body, and a voice rustles in my ear. 'Would it be so wrong just to touch you?' –

- - two huge yellow snake eyes coming at me down a corridor, but they _can't,_ I need to tell Harry about the pipes - -

'_You are mine. You always will be. Nobody else's but mine'_

- - Ron's got me to do his homework again, 'I love you, Hermione', and I'm blushing, oh god, will he notice? - -

_- he is leaving me. No. He can't. I'll die without him. But he's leaving me - - - _

I can't be pregnant. I can't. Not possible. I'm going to be sick again - - -

- - - - my finger's cut, and oh, it's bleeding, it hurts so much… but dad kisses my finger to make it better, and tells me I'm a good girl for not crying - - -

'_I've learned all our school books off by heart, of course, I just hope it will be enough…'_

'I love you, Lucius. I hate you, oh god, I hate you so much, but… it goes along with all the hate, I… I can't… I don't know, but I love you-'

_-'I have hurt you. I am sorry for it. It was… not what I wanted' - - - -_

The spell leaves my mind in a rush.

It's like my mind is suddenly been filled with cold water, drowning out all the noise of only a few moments previously.

I'm left crouching. Breathless. It's exhausting seeing your life in snapshot.

'Perhaps that's the method I should have used previously, instead of playing around with Veritaserum.' I hear Voldemort's voice as if it's coming from miles away. 'Then perhaps I might have gotten somewhere near the whole story.'

Before I can pull myself together I see long, spidery fingers sneaking through the luminous bars of my cage.

I kick myself back, but I immediately hit the stone wall behind me, and he can still reach me… he can still touch…

I cringe as I look at him.

'And now we come to the crux,' he murmurs, smiling his lipless smile. 'You know, I do have to wonder why you chose to keep this… abomination the pair of you have created alive. _You_, at least, might have survived your indiscretion, if it were not for this unfortunate consequence of your actions.'

His spindly fingers creep onto my stomach.

I try to twist away, but it's useless. There's nowhere for me to move to.

I look past him to Lucius, who glares at Voldemort, his hands clenching and unclenching by his sides.

'A half-blood Malfoy,' Voldemort murmurs, his long fingernails digging into my belly. 'What a contradiction in terms.'

It's as if he's stuck his hand into something deep and private within me. It makes me feel sick and dizzy. I don't want his hand on my child… _he's_ not supposed to touch it… it's sick, it's wrong…

'Get your hands off of her!'

It wasn't Lucius who said that. It was Ron.

Voldemort smiles, and draws his hand out of my cage, away from me, thank god.

He stands and turns to face Ron, who glares at him, his breathing heavy.

'Ah, Ronald Weasley,' he drawls. 'I'd almost forgotten you were here. But then,' he smiles on cruelly, 'you must be quite used to that. You're quite the forgotten player in this game, aren't you?'

Ron glares at him.

Voldemort laughs quietly. 'I see your mind,' he murmurs. 'You loved her first, I can see that. You loved her before Lucius Malfoy even knew the name of Hermione Granger. You loved her from the moment she pointed out your dirty nose on the train to Hogwarts.'

Ron blushes, but Voldemort pretends not to notice.

'Tell me, Ronald – would you like to see him in pain?' he says, his voice low. 'Wouldn't you like to see the man who stole the love of your life writhe in agony?'

I swallow down, hard. My gaze flicks from Ron, who takes a sharp indrawn breath through his nose as he looks Voldemort in the eye, to Lucius, who looks only at me.

'Tell me,' Voldemort whispers, 'and tell me honestly, would you blame me if I were to torture him? If I were to use the cruciatus curse on him, here and now, wouldn't you long to thank me, even though every scream he gave would break her heart?'

There's a long, drawn out silence while Ron glares unblinking at Voldemort.

Voldemort's lips split into a smile. 'Oh, so you would?'

And Ron still doesn't answer.

So Voldemort turns to Lucius, his wand raised, and he utters the word.

'_Crucio!_'

Lucius crumples to the floor, bucking and writhing. And screaming. Blood rushes to his face, turning his skin a vivid scarlet…

'STOP IT!' The words blast out of me before I even think them.

Voldemort raises his wand, and the screaming stops.

I blink, and tears come pouring down without a sound.

Lucius raises his head, and he looks only at me. A bead of blood gleams at the corner of his white lips.

'I'm sorry,' I mouth at him soundlessly.

I don't know why I'm sorry, when he's only experiencing one tenth of what he put me through, time and time again.

But I _am _sorry.

He nods. He knows. He'd accept anything I offered him.

I look at Ron, who's staring at the floor. He won't look at me. His lips are hard and unmoving.

'I'll tell you something,' Voldemort whispers, talking to Lucius now. 'I never would have put you in the same class as our old friend Antonin.'

My blood freezes.

Lucius raises his gaze to his master.

'You despised him, you said,' Voldemort goes on. 'You told me no woman was safe from him, not even a specimen such as this.'

He jerks his head at me, before throwing a cutting hex across the marble of Lucius's cheek.

'Are you like Antonin, then?' asks Voldemort. 'Are you so low – so base in your desires?'

He flicks his wand, sending out a green jet of torture towards Lucius, who yells out in agony, twitching and writhing, before the curse is lifted.

'Do you have so little self-control?' Voldemort whispers.

Lucius spits out a mouthful of red before he answers.

'I had more than he did, I can assure you of that,' he says.

'But he, at least, managed to restrain himself around _her_,' Voldemort says, indicating me with a wave of his hand. 'But _you_ – you just couldn't help yourself, could you? At least Antonin had _some_ integrity – some notion of the meaning of _duty-_'

'He did _not!_' I burst out. Everyone's turns to look at me, but I'm too furious to care. 'Integrity? Dolohov? God, if only you _knew_… I always had to keep my ears open, listening for his footsteps creeping outside my door! God knows what he might have done, unless-'

I stop, biting down on my own tongue.

Voldemort turns to me, a curious expression on his face.

'Unless… what?' he murmurs.

'Please, my Lord,' Lucius says, after shooting me a quick, veiled look. 'Don't push her further than she can go. Months of captivity have taken their toll on her mental state. Sometimes she says things she doesn't quite grasp the meaning of. I don't think she knows what she's saying…'

And I know it doesn't sound convincing. It was worth a shot, I suppose.

Voldemort just looks at me. 'Yes, she does,' he mutters. 'Don't insult her by suggesting otherwise. She's exceptionally bright for her age. Didn't you tell me so often yourself, when you first took charge of her?'

Lucius looks at me, warning me not to say anything, but Voldemort hasn't looked away from me either.

'Unless _what,_ Hermione?' he says.

I don't say anything. I won't condemn us any further.

He rolls his eyes. 'Well, perhaps you'll yield to some gentle persuasion. Avery?'

'My Lord?' Avery's keen on the alert.

Voldemort gestures at me. 'Encourage her, will you?'

Avery nods, and raises his wand.

'My Lord, that won't be necessary,' Lucius says swiftly.

Voldemort narrows his eyes. 'Are you willing to explain her meaning for her?'

'I am,' Lucius goes on, his voice unnaturally calm. 'Antonin was a little… forceful... with his attentions. To prevent him from sullying the purity of his blood…'

Bellatrix snorts, and Lucius pauses for a moment before he goes on.

'To prevent him from going too far, I stepped in, and reminded him of his duty to you.'

Avery looks at Lucius, his head tilted comically. 'And that's all that made you _step in_, is it?' he murmurs. 'Your sense of duty?'

Lucius ignores him. He's looking closely at Voldemort, whose brow is furrowed.

'It was soon after that he deserted, wasn't it?'

'Perhaps it was Lucius' involvement that caused his upset,' Bellatrix chips in. 'I remember at the time, he was always _whining _about how he hadn't been rewarded for his services. I've often wondered what brought on such a sudden inferiority complex.'

I clench and unclench my hands. It might be okay.

Even if it is, what difference will it make?

Voldemort isn't listening to Bellatrix. He's looking at me long and hard.

'Was that the way of it, Hermione?' he murmurs.

And before I even have a moment to look away his mind snatches into mine.

'Why can't I see your mind on this matter?' Voldemort whispers, a frown on his vein-lined forehead. 'Why is it that your memory is somewhat… blank when it comes to Dolohov's departure?'

I open and close my mouth as I try to think of what to say…

But how can I say anything to explain that the memory I actually have of Dolohov's 'departure' is no longer actually present in my mind, but upstairs in a jar somewhere in Lucius' room?

Voldemort sighs. 'Well, I suppose I can't force you to tell me,' he says nonchalantly. 'But perhaps you'll yield to some… persuasion.'

He gestures at Avery, who raises his wand. Not at me, but at Lucius.

'No!' I shout.

Voldemort raises an eyebrow. 'No?'

'He… Lucius… he didn't like Dolohov's attitude towards me, and he… he forced him to leave. He said he'd kill him if he ever came back…'

I know it's useless. He takes one look at me, using his eyes to reach into mine.

'Liar.'

He gestures to Avery, who raises his wand. _'Crucio!'_

Lucius's screams of pain tear me apart from the inside out. Each one is like a shot to the stomach, and oh god, make it end-

He wouldn't want me to talk. He wouldn't.

Besides, it's nothing he didn't put me through, time and time again. I just have to tune it out, like _he_ used to when it was me screaming in pain…

But how can I tune it out when he's screaming like that, and his eyes roll back in his skull as he scratches at his own face to try and make the agony go away?

'NO, PLEASE!' I scream. 'I'll… I'll tell you, I promise!'

'Will you, Hermione?' Voldemort drawls, as Lucius gasps out huge gulping moans of pain behind him. 'Or will you only lie to me again?'

Lucius lets out another roar of agony. He won't care. He'll only want the pain to end, I know it. I would if I were him.

'Dolohov… Dolohov didn't leave!' I say desperately.

Voldemort looks into my eyes for a moment, and then makes a lowering gesture at Avery, who immediately lifts the curse.

Lucius lies on the ground, heaving in great breaths.

'He didn't _leave_?' Voldemort asks.

Lucius raises his head, looking as if the very movement is causing him pain. His skin is drenched with sweat, and his eyes are webbed with red.

'He's dead,' I whisper.

The following silence is deafening.

Voldemort looks deeply into my eyes. 'Dead?'

I nod.

Lucius closes his eyes, shaking his head.

'And… how did he die?' Voldemort whispers.

I shake my head. I don't know what to say.

He sighs, and waves his arm at Avery, who raises his wand again.

'No!' I cry out.

Voldemort's face is unmoving. 'Tell me.'

What choice do I have?

'We… he and I…' I heave in a huge breath. 'You have to realize that he'd lost his mind. I mean _really_ lost it. He wouldn't…'

I pull in another lungful of air.

'He came to my room one night, and he… he tried to…' I trail off. 'It wasn't the first time, either. He'd tried it on before. But this time he – Lucius – he stopped him. But Dolohov freaked out, and they fought, but I pulled Dolohov away from him, and…'

I've said enough.

Lucius pulls himself slowly to his feet.

'You killed Antonin?' Bellatrix whispers, her face betraying her utter shock. 'For _her_?'

'Don't pretend that his death upsets you,' Lucius snaps. 'You were hardly _fond_ of him, if I recall-'

'BUT I DIDN'T _MURDER_ HIM, DID I?' she shouts back.

Oh god, what have I done?

Voldemort is looking at Lucius, his expression unfathomable.

'If you wanted to keep Antonin away from her, you need not have killed him,' he says quietly. 'You need only have told me of his actions, and I would have had him removed from the house. You know that. What on earth persuaded you to be so hot-headed over this? If you wanted her so badly, what would it matter if she was damaged goods?'

He breathes a chuckle when Lucius doesn't answer him.

'I never thought I'd see the day when you would allow emotion to override your greater judgement, Lucius. You were always so logical…'

He doesn't finish that thought. His fingers flex around his wand.

'Just how much have you degenerated thanks to a Mudblood?'

'But… my Lord, my father's a good man!' Draco pipes up suddenly. 'He's never done anything like this before! It's the mudblood's fault, not his.'

He trails off as Voldemort turns his eyes on him.

'What is it that you're suggesting?' Voldemort asks.

Draco works himself up to speak. 'I'm just saying… well, it's not… it might have just been, you know, the situation.'

Voldemort's eyes narrow. 'The _situation?_'

Draco gulps, but he nods, and I have to admire his nerve. 'I mean, he's been stuck here for months, never seeing my mother…'

Avery breathes a laugh. 'Somehow I don't think that suppressed urges were Lucius' problem-'

'My Lord!' Bellatrix says suddenly in panic. Avery continues to smile at Draco, who turns looking from one person to the next, looking completely lost.

'What are you talking about?' he asks.

'It seems you still have a lot to learn about your father,' Avery says.

'Will somebody please tell me what the hell's going on?' Draco snaps.

Avery smiles at the frozen horror on Bellatrix's face, and speaks to Draco without looking away from her. 'The Mudblood has not been the only indiscretion of your father's. It seems that his appetite is quite… insatiable. Much like your Aunt Bellatrix's, in fact.'

Ron lets out a 'Ha!' of triumph, but Draco doesn't seem to hear him. His head switches wildly between Lucius and Bellatrix.

'Oh!' is all he says, at first. And then he turns to his father.

'You – _her!_' he splutters. 'She's mother's _sister-_'

'Yes, I am aware of the fact,' Lucius says wearily.

'Draco,' is all Bellatrix says.

Lucius just looks at his son. 'Believe me, I regret the whole sorry mess that was my involvement with her,' he says.

Draco makes a small choking sound as he shakes his head, looking nauseous.

'Draco, I _am_ sorry,' Bellatrix says, wringing her hands. 'But surely it is more favourable to you that your father and I-'

Draco puts his hands to his eyes, letting out a groan. 'How could that be preferable to _anything?_'

She raises her hand, as if to touch his arm, but thinks better of it, and only whispers, 'At least I'm not a Mudblood.'

Draco lowers his hands from his eyes, looking between his aunt and his father, as if he can't believe his association with such people.

'What kind of family _is_ this?' he asks.

Voldemort watches the entire thing with an amused expression on his face.

'You do not have to follow their example, my boy,' he murmurs. 'You could be greater than them, if you put your mind to it. You could learn from their mistakes, and with blood as pure as yours, who knows how far you might rise?'

He turns to face Lucius.

'After all, Draco, I cannot see _you _making the same mistakes as your father. Not when you are about to witness first hand just what his betrayal will cost him.'

Draco flinches, but Voldemort ignores him, paying attention only to his prey.

'You have to die, Lucius,' he says quietly. 'You must know that.'

Lucius' eyes flicker to meet mine, just for a second.

'Ah,' Voldemort goes on. 'But death probably doesn't mean too much to you now, does it?'

Lucius' eyes shift back to Voldemort. 'What do you mean?'

Voldemort's smile widens. 'For some reason, this Mudblood must mean a lot to you, otherwise why would you have risked so much for her?'

Lucius doesn't reply.

'I can imagine,' Voldemort goes on, 'that more than your death, much more than that, you would hate to see her suffer.'

He turns to me, his smile still full on his face, and then there is only noise as both Lucius and Ron start to talk, shouting over one-another. I can only hear snatches of speech, and I can't tell who's saying what.

'For God's sake, what do you _want?_'

'She hasn't _done_ anything, you fucking Frankenstein-'

'I have always been loyal, and she has done nothing-'

'Blame _him_ if you want someone to suffer!'

Voldemort raises a hand, silencing both of them.

'So, am I correct in assuming that either one of you would be willing to take the punishment for her?'

I look in panic from one to the other. 'Don't you dare, either of you!'

But they don't even acknowledge my words.

Ron reacts first. 'Yes.'

But Voldemort's not looking at him. He's looking at Lucius, waiting only for _his _reaction.

Lucius flickers his eyes towards me, before he looks back and Voldemort, and nods.

'Well, this _is_ interesting.' Voldemort turns to me. 'The two loves of your life, Hermione, willing to literally die for you. Isn't that every schoolgirl's dream?'

I stare at him, my breathing shallow. 'What do you want from me?' I say feebly.

'I am giving you the opportunity to save the man you _love_,' he says, the last word cruelly emphasized.

My vision goes blurry. 'Man?'

Singular. Not plural.

He smiles. 'My, but you are a quick one, aren't you? Lucius often told me you were bright.'

He holds is wand out in front of him, balancing it in his spindly fingers.

'So, _Mudblood_, which one is it to be?'

Bellatrix's eyes switch feverishly between Voldemort and Lucius. Avery has no reaction. Draco is the only one who speaks, and his voice is a terrified sputter.

'No! I mean, please… my lord, don't kill him! It's not _his_ fault. Kill her, or Weasley-'

'It's not _my_ decision, Draco,' Voldemort says smoothly. 'This is for Hermione to decide. She is, after all, the one who has caused all this mess.'

I look desperately at Ron, whose face has gone white as a sheet. He's breathing heavily, and he's looking hard at me. Half-terrified, half-accusing. _I would never hurt you, Hermione. I'm not like him._

And then I look at Lucius.

I can't do it.

'Why are you doing this?'

Voldemort gives a kind of giggle. 'Because whichever way you choose, he cannot win,' he drawls. 'Either he sees you die now, or _he_ dies, and he dies with the knowledge that you chose Weasley over him.'

I stare at him as he relishes the pause he takes.

'Or if you choose for Weasley to die, he would have to live with the knowledge that you hate him. You will hate him for being the one you chose to stay alive. He will remind you only of what you've lost. Whenever you look into his eyes, you will see only Ronald Weasley. And that will kill him.'

I look at he two men I love.

'DON'T YOU DARE KILL MY FATHER, GRANGER!' Draco yells. 'HAVEN'T YOU DONE ENOUGH, DAMN YOU?'

I close my eyes, and a single tear trickles down my cheek.

I can't live without one or the other. I just can't.

I can barely get my words out. 'Please, don't make me choose-'

I trail off into a sob. I just can't speak. It's too hard.

Voldemort shrugs. 'Well then, I suppose my only option is to dispose of all three of you.'

I wish Lucius had killed me all that time ago, when Voldemort first gave him the option to do so. If I'd died then, my parents would have lived. Ron would have been devastated, but he would be able to live with the knowledge that I didn't betray him. And I'd never have ruined Lucius' existence, and he would have been able to get on with his life, thinking nothing more of the irritating little Mudblood who might have proved to be a problem, if he'd been foolish enough to allow her to live.

Voldemort turns to Bellatrix. 'I want all three of them to be brought to me at my headquarters by midnight tomorrow night.' He throws a withering glance at Lucius. 'I have informed every Death Eater that I require their presence at that time, and I want them all to witness the price of Lucius' failure.' Then he smiles at Ron. 'And… well, let's just say that the Weasleys shall also be present. And they, too, shall witness the price of failure.'

I suck in a huge breath. We have time, at least. Only a day, but at least that's _time_…

Even if it's only a stay of execution.

'Bella, I shall need your assistance to cross the river.'

And with that, Voldemort sweeps from the room, with Bellatrix at his heels.


	48. Apocalypse

'_Our chang'd and mingled souls are grown  
To such acquaintance now,  
That if each would resume their own,  
Alas! we know not how.  
We have each other so engrost,  
That each is in the union lost.' – _Katherine Philips_, To Mrs. M. A. at Parting_

* * *

One night, when I was four years old, I clambered out of bed and padded, barefoot, out of my bedroom. I stood outside my parents' door, clutching the paw of my teddy bear.

'Mummy,' I whispered, all the while checking over my shoulder, shivering in my nightie. 'Mummy!'

My mother eventually appeared in the hallway, bleary-eyed and half asleep. Behind her, I could hear my father snoring.

'What's the matter, poppet?'

'I'm scared,' I whispered, teeth chattering.

'What of?'

'The monster.'

'What monster?'

'I think he's under my bed. He's been there for ages. He's trying to get me, mummy.'

'Have you had a nightmare, darling?'

'No, he's really there! The monster, mum-'

'It's alright, Hermione. I'm here.'

She scooped me up in her arms and carried me back to bed, wrapping me up in my blankets and stroking my hair as I babbled about the terrifying monster that stalked through my nightmares. When I was safely tucked up and my mutterings had slowed, she pulled back the curtains at my window.

'Look, sweetheart,' she said. I looked. She was pointing at the smudgy line of pink that bloomed behind the suburban rooftops of our road.

'Monsters can't come out in the sunshine,' she said.

I looked at her, wide eyed. 'Why?'

'Because they're scared of the light.' She smiled. 'If we leave the curtains open, the monster won't be able to come out again.'

I smiled, placated. My mother, I was convinced, lived on Olympus and held up the sun. She was never wrong about anything. I was, after all, only four years old.

She kissed me on the forehead and returned to her room, and I turned to the window, falling asleep as the beautiful rays of sunlight filled my room, banishing the darkness away.

* * *

'Avery, what do you want?' Lucius says rapidly as soon as the door is closed. 'Money? You can have it. You can have every penny I have-'

'I have more than enough money already, thank you,' Avery replies coolly. 'And I daresay the Dark Lord will reward me handsomely with the money he shall seize from Narcissa after your death.'

Narcissa. Another name to add to the list of lives that will be destroyed tonight, then. No husband, no money, and a reputation trashed when people hear about what her husband was up to behind her back.

'He won't give you all of it!' Lucius hisses. 'I'm willing to give you _everything!_ The money, the house, every single one of my possessions. You can take it all and be on the other side of the world by tomorrow morning.'

Avery just shakes his head, a sad, patronising smile on his face. 'It is indeed a generous offer, but I'm afraid I'm going to have to decline.'

Lucius grits his teeth. 'You aren't aware of just how much money you're turning down-'

'I can make an educated guess, but the simple fact of the matter is I'm not in this for personal gain.' Avery smiles his smooth smile. 'That's where you and I differ, I think. I am able to keep our cause at the forefront of my mind, always. I feel no need to abandon it to suit my own desires, unlike _some _I could mention.'

'Oh, for Christ's sake!' Ron interjects violently. 'Can I ask - how much does 'the cause' pay? He's offering to give you all he's got! He must be worth… thousands. _Hundreds_ of thousands.'

But he's wasting his time. Both of them are. Avery would probably be the one person most able to help us right now, but he's also the one with least motivation to do so.

'I do not care for wealth, Weasley,' he says quietly. 'And I would appreciate it if you would not insult me by tarring me with the same brush as your money-grabbing family. I do not take insults to my honour lightly.'

Ron snorts. 'And just how do you think you can punish me now, if Hermione and I are going to be dead in twenty-four hours?'

Avery raises an eyebrow. 'I have no intention of 'punishing' you. The Dark Lord shall make a marvellous job of that himself. I'm merely pointing out that if you think to win me over with bribery and insults, then both you and Lucius are sorely mistaken.'

My head hurts. My heart hurts. _Everything_ hurts. The whole room is closing in around me, and I can't breathe-

'You don't even have to let _me_ go,' Lucius says desperately after a short pause, 'but for god's sake-'

'No, I won't let _her_ go,' is Avery's curt reply, and there's an awful note of finality in his voice. 'It baffles me how you have the arrogance to even suggest that I do. Now if you will excuse me, I have no desire to spend the next two hours conversing with traitors and mudbloods.'

He turns smartly, pausing when he reaches the door. 'Are you coming, Draco? We have time for dinner before we go.'

I choke on my own scream of impotent rage.

Draco's eyes roll up towards Avery, slowly. He's been looking at the floor for some time. His cheeks have the hot, sticky look of someone who's been crying.

'Y-yes,' he says, his voice cracking. He clears his throat. 'Alright.'

'Draco,' I whisper.

He turns a glare on to me. 'Don't talk to me,' he murmurs.

'Draco.' Lucius gives it one last shot. 'Draco, I'm your father-'

'No,' Draco says fiercely. He sniffs, then brushes at his cheek furiously. 'No, you're not.'

Avery smiles his chilly smile as he puts his arm around Draco's shoulders. 'It's alright, my boy. Come on.'

Draco shrugs him off, then walks rapidly to the door, determinedly keeping his eyes averted from his father.

'You love your father!' I shout desperately. 'You know that you do. All you ever did at school was talk about him. If you couldn't kill Dumbledore, who you always claimed to despise, then how can you watch now as your own father is murdered?'

Draco pauses, his hand on the door handle, and the gaze he eventually turns on me is so full of hate that I involuntarily flinch.

'Fuck you,' he whispers, before he bangs out of the room.

Avery smiles, looking at Lucius. 'Such wonderful manners,' he drawls. 'You must be very proud of your son.'

Lucius' jaw twitches. If it wasn't for the cage surrounding him, he'd probably tear Avery's throat out with his bare hands right now.

'You needn't worry yourself,' Avery continues smoothly. 'I am sure his aunt will take good care of him. They have a special relationship, don't they? She's very… fond of him. Exceptionally so.'

I swallow down on bile. That's… not something I want to picture.

Lucius takes a deep breath. 'My estate alone is worth two million galleons,' he says quietly. 'It's yours, if you will just let us go.'

Avery breathes a pitying laugh. 'Oh, Lucius. All the money in the world wouldn't be able to protect me from the wrath of the Dark Lord. You above all people should know that.'

With that, I recognize the horrible truth of his words. Nothing is worth life itself. Even Avery, fierce ideologist that he is, knows that.

Perhaps someone should have reminded Lucius and me of that. It might have saved us a lot of time and energy.

Lucius glares at him for a few seconds, before he pulls himself up straight and looks down into Avery's cold, empty stare.

'I'll see you in hell then, Avery,' he says, practically spitting out the words.

Avery smiles. 'I shall look forward to it.'

And with that he turns and walks from the room, locking the door behind him.

Ron glares at Lucius. 'Well?'

Lucius frowns back at him. 'Well what?'

'What are we going to do now?' Ron's voice rises to a raw, furious shout. 'Huh? Haven't you got a _wonderful _idea to get us out of this? What now, Lucius _fucking_ Malfoy? _WHAT NOW?'_

There's a long, horrible pause. Lucius just stares at Ron, for once not even able to come up with a scathing insult.

'Lucius?'

He sucks in his breath at my voice, and it takes him a few seconds to turn and face me.

I thought I'd seen real fear on his face before. I was wrong. Nothing compares to the expression he wears as he looks into my eyes now.

'Is there nothing else we can offer Voldemort?' I ask stupidly.

He exhales with bitter laughter. 'Not unless we could offer him Potter's head on a plate. And I know that neither of you would contemplate such a thing even if it were possible.'

I bite down on my lip, hard, to stop the tears that threaten to spring in my eyes.

'So that's it, then?' Ron spits out. 'Well, I hope you're proud of yourself, Malfoy. You've created this whole fucking mess, and now you can't get us out of it. You've killed us all!'

Lucius shakes his head. 'Not _all_. The would have killed _you_ without my influence on the situation, certainly-'

'I wouldn't even _be_ here if you hadn't made Hermione give away that Harry was staying at my house!' he snaps. 'So don't think that you don't bear responsibility for my dying at the age of seventeen. And you can't deny that you've killed _her_! If you'd only had some bloody self control then she might have survived this place.'

Lucius can't even reply. He doesn't even look at Ron. He stares at me, and his expression reminds me of pictures I've seen in books of medieval withes and wizards that were burned alive at the stake.

I sink down to my knees, closing my eyes, unable to look at him. 'No. It's my fault-'

'It's not _your_ fault!' Ron shouts furiously. 'For god's sake, he's the one who pushed you into this whole thing!'

'But I didn't get rid of the baby,' I whisper, tears rolling down my cheeks. 'I was so stupid – why didn't I get rid of it?'

There's a footstep. I turn my head to see Lucius stop by his cage, raising a hand to wrap his fingers round a bar as he looks at me.

'They'd have found out anyway,' he murmurs. 'It had gone on too long – everyone in this house knew, it was only a matter of time.'

But I can't take that consolation. How can I? We might have survived, somehow, if only… if only…

If only.

My dad used to tell me you should never say 'if only'.

I stare at Lucius. He looks as desolate as I feel. But he's not crying. I wonder – does he even know how to cry?

I guess I'll never find out, now.

His knuckles are white on the bar of his cage.

I sink my nails into my stomach. If I had the nerve or the ability I'd tear this baby out of me here and now. If I'd only known this was what keeping it would lead to, I'd have necked that potion in one, and been glad to do it.

'Christ almighty, how did this happen?' Ron whispers.

Lucius exhales, looking away from me, to the wall. 'I don't have to explain what happened between us to you-'

'I don't need to hear about _that_!' Ron snaps. 'What I mean is - how did it come to this?'

Lucius shakes his head, still looking at the floor.

'It's too late, Ron,' I mutter. 'There's nothing any of us can do.'

I don't know whether I'm talking about this – the fact that we're about to die – or about everything else; about the three trashed lives that are left at the end of this whole sorry story.

Ron smiles sadly. 'I never took for granted that we might get together, in the end,' he murmurs. 'I'd hoped we would, sure, but I never let myself take it as a given. But if I had to lose you to anyone, I never would have thought I'd lose you to that poncey git.'

Lucius raises his eyebrows and exhales sharply, rubbing the bridge between his eyes. He looks too exhausted to retort.

I bite my lip. 'You haven't lost me, Ron. I'm still your Hermione – I always have been.'

'And _his_ Mudblood?'

The words hit me like a lash.

I swallow down, hard, pressing my cold fingertips to my lips. What can I say to _that?_

'We could never have lived like this,' Lucius murmurs.

I start out of surprise. He looks back at me, his eyes blank.

'So you're saying it's better that we're going to die than have to face a little difficulty, is that it?' Ron snaps.

Lucius shakes his head. 'No. I don't want to die anymore than you do. But I always knew...'

He trails off, before he shakes his head and speaks again.

'It couldn't have gone on forever. Not when any of us know what we want anymore-'

'I know what _I _wanted,' Ron says bitterly. 'I wanted to be with Hermione. That's all I wanted. It's all I _ever _wanted. I wasn't stupid enough to convince myself that she was unworthy of me. That was all you, Malfoy.'

I close my eyes, wanting to block out the guilt that gnaws at my chest – an old wound, and one that would never have healed in a thousand years.

When I open my eyes, Lucius is still looking at me.

'I was a fool,' he murmurs. 'I admit that now.'

Ron exhales with disbelief, but I know Lucius is telling the truth. I know him, and I know that now he'd never lie to me.

And he's right. We couldn't have gone on as we were. I couldn't live with my guilt. Ron couldn't live with my betrayal. Lucius couldn't live with himself.

'I'm sorry,' I whisper. 'Both of you, I… I'm so sorry.'

Ron's mouth twists. 'We've really screwed each other's lives up, the three of us, haven't we?'

But Lucius says nothing. He makes a small, half gesture – half raises his hand to me, then drops it.

A tear rolls down my cheek. I can't look at him. He ruined my life, and I ruined his, and the worst of it is that I should be screaming for his death, but all I can do is hope to the god I no longer believe in that they kill me before him, so that I don't have to see him die.

I knew we'd be the death of each other, in the end.

The door swings open.

I make a strange, choking noise as I almost swallow my own tongue.

Ron recovers first. 'What are _you_ doing here?'

Draco shuts the door behind him. His face is very white. He doesn't answer Ron's question.

I swallow, then work myself up to speak. 'Draco, what-'

'Shut up, Mudblood, and listen,' he says furiously. 'I've stunned Avery, but I don't know how much time that will buy us. And my Aunt will be back any minute, so we don't have time to waste.'

Hope leaps up in my chest so suddenly I go light-headed. I can't breathe, and the room closes in around me, then veers rapidly away.

'Thank Christ,' Ron whispers.

'Good, Draco,' Lucius says, a little breathlessly. 'Very good. Do you have my wand?'

Draco's face twists. 'No. Aunt… Bellatrix, she destroyed it, with the Dark Lord's permission.'

I exhale quickly. His wand. Destroyed. The wand that killed my parents, that tortured me over and over.

Gone.

But the man who did it remains, clean and whole.

It doesn't make any sense, really.

Lucius swallows quickly. 'Destroyed?'

Draco nods.

'My wand?' Lucius whispers. He looks like he's been told that he's lost the use of his legs.

He knows how I felt when he destroyed my wand, then.

'Yes,' Draco replies. 'But I have mine, still.'

'I see,' Lucius replies, regaining his composure. 'Well, at least that's something. Now, if you can let us out, then we'll-'

'_Us_?' Draco spits. 'Oh no, father. I'm only here for you. If you think I'm going to let _her_ go, you've got another thing coming.'

I stare at him, truly lost for words.

Ron exhales incredulously. 'You little-'

'Shut _up_, Weasley! This is nothing to do with you, or the Mudblood. I'm here for my father, and only my father. What happens to _you_ is not an issue.'

Lucius' lips thin out. 'You will not let her go?' he asks.

Draco shakes his head. 'No. I see no reason why I should.'

He takes a step forwards, but Lucius raises his hand.

'Then I will not go with you,' he says quietly. 'I'm sorry. But if you want me to leave with you now, you will have to set her free, too.'

'And Ron,' I say quickly. 'I won't leave without him.'

Ron grins at me, but Draco scowls.

'Why the hell should I-'

'Because I won't leave without him,' I say simply.

'And I won't leave without her,' Lucius interjects. 'Believe me, Draco, if it were up to me I'd kill him myself. But as it is…'

He trails off.

'So it's all or none of you, is that what you're saying?' Draco asks eventually.

Lucius nods. 'That's how it has to be.'

Draco's face twists. 'Fine!' he spits. 'That's just _fine_, isn't it? That to save my own father's life I have to save that of his Mudblood slut and her little boyfriend!' A truly malicious glint comes into his eye. 'You know she's just using you, don't you, father? Once they're both out of here you won't see her for dust.'

'You don't know anything about what I will or will not do, Draco,' I say furiously.

But Lucius is looking intently at his son. 'Whatever she does, I want her to be free,' he says quietly, 'and so I will not leave without her.'

Draco winces, like he's twitching away a fly. 'I'll let her go on one condition,' he says. 'Just one. And it's not much to ask, considering what you've done to me, and what I'm putting at risk to save you.'

Lucius nods. 'You want the house? Take it. All of the money – it's yours, to do as you wish with-'

'I don't want the _money_!' Draco spits. 'What I want… I want you to give her up.'

'Yes, of course,' Lucius says smoothly, lying with perfect ease. 'Now, will you just-'

'No, you have to promise!' Draco says urgently.

'Yes, I _promise_. Now come on-'

'_No!_' Draco shouts, and then checks himself. 'No. Because your promise means _nothing_, doesn't it? You're a liar, father. If I'm going to believe you this time, then I'll need you to make un unbreakable vow.'

The ground disappears underneath my feet.

After a long silence, Lucius speaks.

'I beg your pardon?'

His voice comes from far away. It's like water has stopped up my ears.

Draco takes a deep breath, and he turns to flick his wand at Ron's cage. Ron blinks as the bars dissolve around him, then rubs his eyes, as if to check they're working correctly.

Draco keeps his wand on Ron as he speaks to his father. 'Before I let her go, I want you to make an unbreakable vow, with Weasley as a witness, that when we're out of here you'll never see the Mudblood again.'

There's a long, unbearable pause.

I… I can't comprehend this.

'Why?' Lucius asks eventually.

Draco twitches. 'Why what?'

I can't _fucking _comprehend this.

'Why do you ask this of me?'

I can barely register his voice. The room is veering weirdly, blurring in and out of focus. How can… how can we possibly-

'Why on earth do you think?' Draco asks incredulously. He flicks his wand at Lucius' cage, dissolving that as well, before he turns his wand back on to Ron, not looking away from his father.

I blink, and the room comes back into focus. I look at the faces of the men I love. Ron's red and furious. Lucius' pale and still.

'Go, Lucius,' I say firmly. 'And you too, Ron. Just go-'

'Let Hermione go, Draco,' Lucius says very quietly, ignoring me.

Draco winces. 'I will, as soon as you make the vow.'

'Then you condemn your own father to death, because I will not stay away from her once we're out of here,' Lucius says with a grim certainty.

Oh for god's sake, why won't he just _go_?

_You know why. What would he have left, if he didn't have you?_

'Draco, for god's sake, just get us all out of here, please!' I say desperately. 'You'll still see your father – every day, if you want to-'

Draco whirls around, white faced and furious. 'Who the hell are _you_ to tell me when I will or will not see my own father?'

I take a step backwards, raising my hands. 'I didn't mean-'

'I know what you _meant,_ you arrogant little _cow!_ If you think I'm going to let you win, after everything-'

'For fuck's sake, Malfoy!' Ron bursts out suddenly. 'Do you really think she's _won_?'

'Of course she has!' Draco turns his wand on his father as he bawls at Ron. 'Look at her – she's got her claws into my father-'

'You stupid bastard!' Ron retorts. 'Don't stand there and talk about what you don't know anything about. I've seen them first hand – I know more than you what's going on between them. And I can promise you she hasn't won _anything_!'

'Then why are you so desperate for them to escape together, then?' Draco spits out. 'The whole world knew you fancied Granger back at school-'

'I don't want _him_ to escape if that's what you mean,' Ron says hotly. 'But I have no choice. I can accept that I've lost – why can't you? We've all lost; me, you, Hermione, your father. There are no winners here, Malfoy, so we might as well make the best of a bad situation.'

There's a long pause while all of us glare at each other, Draco teetering on the outside of this twisted, messed up relationship between me, Lucius, and Ron.

'How?' Draco asks eventually.

Ron takes a deep breath. 'By getting out of here alive.'

Draco twitches. 'And I'll let you all get out of here alive. I _will_. I'm just not prepared to do it unless I have a guarantee that my father won't see her again. That I won't have to see him playing house with a Mudblood half his age – someone he once berated me for when I let her to do better than me at school. Someone who, if she hadn't ended up here, would still be wearing a school uniform right now.'

He pauses, getting his breath back as he turns back to Lucius.

'Just give her up, father,' he says quietly. 'That's all I'm asking of you.'

Lucius takes a deep breath through his nose. 'You have no idea what you ask-'

'Yes, I do,' Draco replies bitingly. 'I'm asking you to show respect to your wife of twenty years and to your son, who has dedicated his entire existence to trying to please you.'

I gulp in a huge breath. 'Draco, you don't understand-'

He whirls around, keeping his wand on his father as he bawls at me.

'SHUT _UP_, GRANGER!' he screams suddenly, months of hatred ripping up to the surface. 'Isn't it enough that I'm going to let you live, you fucking _whore_? When you've destroyed my father's marriage? When you've ruined his life, and my mother's, and mine?'

'I'm sorry,' I say shakily, and god knows, I mean it.

Draco smiles a crazed smile just like that of his aunt, and –

Ron. Ron's moving slowly behind him. Slowly, and silently.

'Oh, you're SORRY?' Draco screams, oblivious. 'SORRY? YES I'M SURE YOU'RE FUCKING SORRY, YOU _BITCH!_ SORRY? _SORRY?_ LIKE HELL YOU ARE!'

And all of a sudden Ron's leapt onto him from behind.

He drags him back, holding firm even as Draco thrashes about like a pinned insect, and he's got a handful of blonde hair in his hand, and they reach the wall and Ron's hand draws Draco's head back-

'FATHER!'

A sickening crack.

I flinch backwards, bringing my hands up to my mouth to stop the horrified screams that burst from my mouth.

Another crack as once again Ron slams Draco's head into the unforgiving stone wall. Once. Twice. Three times…

Draco falls in a crumpled heap on the floor.

Ron looks down at him, his hands shaking.

Oh… my god.

I can't get my breath.

Ron looks up at me, hastily wiping his mouth with his sleeve.

'Sorry,' he mutters. 'I thought he'd never shut up.'

I blink, lowering my hands from my mouth.

'My god,' I whisper.

Lucius walks slowly over to Ron, frowning hard, but it's a strange frown. I don't know what it means, which is an alien sensation – I always know what he's thinking…

'Lucius, please!' I say desperately. 'He didn't… there was nothing else we could do!'

Lucius reaches Ron, looking down at him. Ron doesn't need to raise his head much to meet his gaze.

'It was kill or be killed,' Ron says quietly. 'At least now we stand a chance of getting away.'

Lucius looks at him for a few moments – taking in, for once, not the boy that Ron Weasley once was, but instead the man that he has become.

'I never thought you'd surprise me, Weasley.'

He kneels down next to his son and reaches out, taking hold of Draco's wand before placing his fingers on the porcelain skin stretched over the tendons on his neck.

I hold my breath, my head whirring with endless, horrible thoughts.

What will we do, if he's dead? How will any of us move on from that, even if we do manage to escape?

Ron doesn't say anything. He presses his lips together so hard the skin around them goes white. His face has turned a pale green.

After what seems like an eternity, Lucius exhales sharply and removes his hand from his son's neck.

'Is he alive?' I whisper.

Lucius nods, still looking at Draco.

I let out a huge breath, almost falling to my knees with the huge relief that crashes down on my shoulders.

'Yes, he's alive.' Lucius takes one last look at his son, and turns to walk to my cage. 'Which is fortunate for you, Weasley.'

Ron snorts, but I can see the blatant relief on his face. 'Oh come on, you know he was taking the piss-'

'Indeed,' Lucius says coldly, 'but he is still my son. And if you'd killed him, don't think for a second that I wouldn't have made you suffer for it.'

He flicks his wand at the bars around me, which dissolve into thin air. He puts his hands under my shoulders, lifting me up to my feet.

'Are you alright?' he asks, looking closely into my eyes.

'Yes,' I whisper.

'You were not hurt while I was unconscious?'

'No.'

'You're certain? I need to know if you have-'

'Yes, I promise you.'

'Come on!' Ron yells impatiently, already at the door. 'We've got to go.'

Lucius nods grimly. 'You're fit to move quickly?' he asks me.

I nod.

'Good,' he says quietly, talking only to me. 'Now, if we are confronted by Bellatrix or Avery, I want you to run as fast as you can. You are not to try and help me without a wand, do you understand?'

I nod wordlessly.

'What about me?' Ron asks. 'What am I supposed to do?'

Lucius curls his lip up, turning from me. 'You will do your best to protect her, and so act as you see fit at the time,' he says coldly.

Ron grimaces. 'And when we're out of here? What then?'

I cringe, but Lucius just sneers as he answers. 'When we're out of here you can go to hell, for all I care-'

All three of us freeze as one.

Footsteps. Purposeful footsteps, coming towards the door.

'Get behind me!' Lucius hisses, grabbing me by the hand and planting himself in front of me.

'Ron!' I whisper, reaching out and grabbing him by the arm, pulling him behind Lucius too.

The door swings open.

'_Stupefy!_'

'_Protego!_'

Lucius throws me backwards, away from him, as he throws a jet of purple light towards Avery, snarling in fury.

I trip over, stumbling to my knees. Damn it, _damn it._

Ron grabs hold of my arm, dragging me to my feet. 'Come on, let's get out of here.'

My eyes stay glued to the battle in front of me. I can barely see them for the flashes of multicoloured light that fling around the room. But I can see one dark haired figure, and one blonde, and I can see how evenly they're matched.

Avery shoots a flame of red at Lucius, which Lucius only just manages to dodge.

If I thought that Lucius was in danger when he was fighting Dolohov, I was sorely mistaken. Avery's more a match for Lucius than Dolohov could ever have dreamed of being. I can't even tell who's firing what spell.

'Hermione!' Ron's fingers dig into my arm.

Lucius sends jet after jet of light at Avery, his face contorting with rage as each one is deflected.

'Fight back, you coward!' he snarls.

Avery rebounds another spell in defiance. 'It's not _my_ job to kill you, Lucius!'

Ron grips me hard. 'Come _on!_'

I shake his hand away. 'I'm staying, Ron. You can go, if you want – I'll find you when we're out of here.'

'Don't be an idiot!' he says incredulously, locking his hand around my arm, half-dragging me to the door. 'I'm not going without you. He'll be alright, come on!'

I turn to see Lucius deflect a streak of white light away from him. It hits the wall near Avery's arm, leaving a huge burn mark in the stone.

The pair of them pause, gasping for breath.

'You can't win,' Avery whispers. 'Bellatrix will be back any minute now-'

'By which time we'll be long out of here,' Lucius snarls, 'and you will be dead!'

With that he raises his wand, but Avery's too quick, and before I've even registered what's been said the duel's on fire again.

I swallow down, hard. 'I'm sorry Ron, but I can't.'

His eyes widen. 'What are you _doing_? If Avery kills him, what chance will we have if we don't run now? We have to go!'

'No,' I say, not taking my eyes off the battle. 'I won't leave him.'

'You _promised_!' he shouts in desperate exasperation. 'You swore to him that you'd run if we got into trouble!'

'Well I lied, because I won't leave him!' I shout back.

We duck as a streak of green light bounces towards us. I can feel it singe my hair.

_Green_ light…

No. He's still alive. He's conjured a whirling tornado of fire, which whirls towards Avery, closer, closer-

A cloud of blue explodes from Avery's wand, dissipating the tornado like it was never there.

I can't leave him. I wouldn't do it with Dolohov, and I'm damned if I'll do it now.

I turn back to Ron. 'I wouldn't leave you, either, if it was you fighting. You can run if you want – I won't blame you. I want you to save yourself. But I won't leave him now.'

'Damn it, Hermione-'

I grab hold of his hand. '_Listen!_'

More footsteps, and a voice outside. 'Avery? Draco? AVERY! What have you done now?'

We look at each-other, panic stricken.

I don't have time to think properly. I push him away from me. 'You get on that side of the door, I'll get on this one.'

Ron nods, his lips a grim line of determination, and he's barely positioned himself when the door swings open and a black figure stalks into the room.

'NOW!' I scream, launching myself up, grabbing a handful of hair as I clamber onto her back.

She screams in fury, throwing her arms about like a windmill, and I lock my legs around her waist, clamping my arm around her neck. And Ron's got her arm, her wand arm-

'Avada Kedavra!'

But he's wrenched her arm right round now, and the spell misses us by inches. And he's twisting and twisting, and I pull my arm tighter on her neck, and we're falling, both of us, but I've got her under me-

A clatter.

I look down.

'Her wand, Ron! Her wand!'

Bellatrix screams, writhing so much underneath me that I have to almost lock my legs together. 'DON'T YOU _TOUCH _IT!'

But he's already there. He closes his fingers around her fallen wand, bringing it up to point it at her.

And then she's quiet. Quiet and still.

I tighten my grip on her hair anyway, gathering my breath in huge gulps.

A bang comes from the battle nearby. I turn automatically to see a huge chunk of stone fall away from the wall in a flash of light.

He's still alive. But there's a huge gash in his cheek now, and one on his arm. Blood is seeping through the tear in his robes.

But Avery's lagging, too. Sweat drips off his chin, and he's gripping his side with his free hand-

'How does it feel?' I turn back at Ron's voice, but he isn't talking to me. He's glaring down at Bellatrix. 'How does it feel to be scared shitless? To have your life literally in someone else's hands?'

My heart throbs in my throat. This is it. This is the moment.

Bellatrix draws breath. 'You'd kill a defenceless woman, Weasley?' she hisses. 'Well, I can't say I'm surprised. With that temper of yours, I always thought you showed… promise. If it weren't for your poor taste in friends, you might have made a fine addition to our ranks.'

Ron's face hardens, but his eyes shift out of focus for a second.

'What's that supposed to mean?' he asks.

'She's goading you, Ron!' I shout, wincing as a huge cracking flash hits the wall behind Ron.

I turn and look. They're both still alive, fighting fiercely, but closer than they were before.

I turn back to Ron. He's white-faced, and staring down at the woman beneath me. 'It won't make you any less a person,' I shout. 'Do it!'

'Yes, do it, Weasley!' she shouts. 'Do it, and make yourself a murderer.'

'It's not murder if it's self defence!' he says, but his hand is shaking now.

'Oh yes!' she crows. 'Because I'm really a threat to you _now_, aren't I?'

Ron frowns at her long and hard.

'Ron!' I shout in desperation. 'She'd do the same to you, don't think that she wouldn't!'

Ron nods, his lips thinning out. He lowers the wand, and Bellatrix's body tenses beneath mine.

But the incantation doesn't come. He takes both ends of the wand in his fingers, and snaps it clean in half over his knee.

Bellatrix howls like she's under the cruciatus curse – a long, drawn out, gurgling scream - and Ron grins.

'That's for my sister.'

He draws his head back and spits at her. A silvery blob of saliva lands, thick and frothy, on her forehead.

'And that's for making us polish your fucking silver!'

I laugh, unrestrainedly, along with him as she screams, and screams underneath me-

The red jet of light hits him in the side of the head.

My laughter stops dead.

His eyes widen in surprise before he crumples to the ground.

'Ron!' I half-scream. 'RON!'

He doesn't move.

Bellatrix squirms underneath me. I lock her between my legs, gripping her hair in my hands.

'No!' I shout, frantically grabbing at her robes, her hair, anything in an attempt to keep her still.

She squirms, moving her hand down, down-

'I'll find you, Mudblood,' she hisses.

I lean down, and whisper in her ear. 'You won't.'

'I will. Even if it takes years, I'll find you.' She pulls her hand up, and I can see the tiny glint of silver in her hands. 'And I can wait. Time means nothing to me.'

It takes me a split second to jump off of her, and all at once she glows up red, and-

She's gone.

Good. I don't care. I claw my way over to Ron, deaf and blind to anyone but him even as a green curse misses me by inches. He can't be dead. I'd give anything in the world, but please don't let him be dead, oh god-

I press my shaking fingers to his neck. Where is it – yes, there, just under the jaw. Press, press harder-

Breathe. I can breathe. He's alive. The throbbing under my fingers tells me so.

I clutch his robes, shaking him. 'Wake up Ron, for god's sake, wake up, wake up!'

'Expelliarmus!'

I turn. Oh god. Oh no-

Lucius' wand flies out of his hand, clattering against the wall. The blood drains from his horrified face.

Avery laughs a high, tinkling laugh. 'You'll have to be a lot quicker than that, Lucius.'

Lucius glares at him, but I can't see Avery's face. His back is to me-

'You're aware that I'll have to inform the Dark Lord of your behaviour,' Avery says, slightly breathlessly. 'But that shouldn't worry you too much. After all, it's not as if things could get much for the pair of you, is it?'

Lucius' eyes flick to mine. Not a warning. A challenge.

I know what he wants. Avery's back is to me. He's forgotten the useless Mudblood-

Without thought I leap up, my vision red, and all I know is the blood roaring in my ears as I launch myself at his neck, pulling him back and back-

'You touch him, and I'll kill you, I swear-'

And all of a sudden Lucius is with me, and I've got Avery's back and Lucius has his throat in his hands, and I grab his wrist and sink my teeth into it, drooling over his fingers as I draw up his blood, and his wand slips from his fingers-

'NOW, LUCIUS!'

But Lucius doesn't grab his wand. He kicks out at Avery's knees, bringing him to the floor-

'Get back, Hermione!'

I do as he says, kicking myself back against the floor as Lucius grabs the front of Avery's robes.

Avery smiles up at Lucius, a trickle of blood trailing from his lips, and Lucius' first crashes into Avery's face.

And then there is pounding. Unending pounding. Lucius' fist slams into Avery's face again and again, and he draws his head back and slams it into the floor, and slams and slams his fist into his face again and again, and I draw back, covering my mouth, barely able to breathe, oh Christ, so much blood, and then endless damp, soggy squelching thuds, and I can't look, I can't-

Wet choking.

I peer out between my fingers.

Lucius leans back, releasing Avery's neck from between his fingers, breathing harshly through his nose.

I just stare at the bloody remains of Avery's face.

No. It's not a face anymore. A face has… eyes, doesn't it?

And a nose…

I lean over, heaving, but I put my hand to my mouth, swallowing down the vomit that burns my throat.

Lucius' hand grips round my arm 'Are you alright?'

I want to shake him away, but I don't. I stand up straight, gulping in huge, nauseous breaths.

'Yes.'

After a short pause he nods, then reaches down and picks up Draco's wand again.

Avery twitches, raising his hand in a small, clutching gesture, like a new-born baby.

'He's still alive,' I whisper.

But Lucius doesn't even flinch. His face is like stone. 'Better to be safe than sorry, Avery,' he mutters. 'That's something you and I always understood, I think – even if we didn't always remember it.'

Avery's head lowers in stops and starts.

'He can't hear you,' I whisper.

Lucius smiles with a grim certainty. 'Whether he can or not, it doesn't matter now,' he mutters, then lowers his wand. 'Avada Kedavra.'

Avery's twitching stops as soon as the green light hits his chest.

For a few moments we stand in silence, looking at the bloody, sodden mess that was a human being only a second again.

Lucius looks over at me. He brushes the back of his hand against his cheek, leaving a smear of red.

'Jesus,' I whisper.

He says nothing. He only stares at me.

I swallow a lungful of air. I don't know what to say, so I revert to the Hermione I once was. She was practical before anything else.

'Bellatrix has gone,' I mutter. 'Ron destroyed her wand, then she transported herself out of here.'

He nods, apparently relieved to get this conversation on to different ground. 'Did she say where she's gone?'

I shake my head. 'No. But she said… she said she'd find us, even if it took years.'

He rolls his eyes, exhaling disbelievingly. 'Well, _that_ will keep me from sleeping for years, I am sure,' he says sarcastically.

'I don't know where she's gone-'

He waves my whispered protest away. 'She won't come back,' he says, no tremor at all in his voice. 'Not if she's lost her wand. And even if she does, it would be suicide of her to do so. She knows that.'

I nod, swallow, and look down at Avery again.

In a moment, Lucius has his hand under my arm. 'It had to be done, you do know that?'

'Yes, I know,' I say shakily, but I meet his eye. 'It's not so much worse than what I've seen you do before – don't forget it.'

He narrows his eyes, and says only, 'We have to leave.'

'Wait!' I walk over to Ron. 'You have to revive him first.'

He frowns at Ron. 'So he's alive then.'

I frown too, and I nod. 'Yes, he's alive,' I say sharply. 'And we're taking him with us.'

His eye twitches slightly. 'I had hoped…'

He doesn't finish the thought.

'You'd hoped he'd died, is that what you're saying?' I say, my voice shaking in rage.

He raises an eyebrow. 'I fail to recognise why that fact is such a shock to you.'

I shake my head in utter disbelief. 'You're unbelievable.'

He thins his lips out. 'I will revive him,' he says slowly. 'But when we're out of here… I know that I won't be able to stop you from seeing him. But I need your absolute guarantee that you will be with me, and not him.'

I drop my hands to my sides. 'Yes,' I say quietly. 'You know that as well as I do. You don't need me to confirm that.'

He nods. 'You will not leave me.' It's not a question.

I walk over to him, taking his face in my hands. 'Not until the day I die.'

His fingers close around my wrists, and he leans in to me, resting his forehead on mine. 'And I will not leave you.'

I bite my lip. 'Would you have made that vow?' I whisper. 'If Ron hadn't come to our rescue, would you have made that vow?'

He frowns and leans back, as if I've asked him something ridiculous. 'No. Of course I wouldn't.'

'But we would have died-'

'No, we wouldn't,' he says, holding his palm to my cheek. 'He was not prepared to let me die – that much was obvious by the fact that he stunned Avery in the first place.'

I take a deep breath. 'But if he had meant it-'

'No, I would not have made the vow,' he says firmly. 'What would be the point in living if I couldn't have you anymore? What would I have left?'

I frown. 'But what about me? What about _my_ freedom? What about _my _choice?'

He presses his lips together, and he shakes his head, closing his eyes. 'I'm a selfish man, Hermione. You know that.'

I reach out and hold on to his arm. 'I'll… I'll teach you not to be, if you'll let me.'

He opens his eyes, looking as if he's going to smirk for a moment.

'We have all the time in the world, after all.'

I raise an eyebrow. 'Yes, no doubt it will take years.'

He actually laughs at that. 'No doubt.'

I smile. 'But we'll _have_ years.'

He smiles back.

I laugh a small, hysterical giggle.

'I thought you… I thought it was… but we're alive,' I finish stupidly.

He kisses me on the forehead. 'Yes, we're alive.'

It might… oh god, it might…

'We're going to be okay?' I say breathlessly.

He takes my hands, kissing me swiftly on the lips before looking directly into my eyes.

'Avery is dead, my son is unconscious, and Bellatrix has lost her wand,' he says shortly. 'That leaves her all but powerless. So yes, we'll be alright. But we've got to-'

He freezes.

His words are swallowed by a wet choking noise.

What… what?

His eyes are wide, and his lips barely move as he says only, 'What have you done?'

My eyes fall down to his waist. A pale, veiny hand has crept round his back, and the fingers of it are carved around a bloody handle…

I stare at it, floating for long, numb moments in a void of horror.

No. No… it can't… how…

His face twitches, and he falls to his knees, the blade still buried in his ribs.

'NO!' is all I can say.

And then all I can see is Bellatrix. Not laughing, but furious.

There's a clatter as Lucius' wand falls from his fingers. Without thinking, I reach for it, but she's too quick, and before I can think she's closed her bloody fingers around it-

'Avada Kedavra!'

But it misses me by an inch as I duck down and I roll, clawing my way across the ground, oh god, he's – no, no, won't think it, can't think it-

Blood. The knife, and the blood.

I can _feel _that knife. It's buried in my own heart.

'No games, Mudblood!' she shouts. 'Normally I play with my food, but not this time. I've waited too long. I'll carve the brat out of you myself, and then I'll finish you off, like I should have done the day you arrived here!'

Without pause I crawl behind Avery's body. Perhaps – maybe I could shield myself with it until I work out what to do-

He's heavy as I lift him up to hold over me, and my hands slide over the blood that soaks him.

Her scream of laughter bursts into the air.

'That's right! Hide, you stupid little girl! Do the one thing you're good at, and run and hide!'

The sobs are uncontrollable. They rack every atom of my being. I can't think for the impotent agony of it – he's… he's… and all I can do is cower here in terror.

'Hold on, Lucius!' I scream. 'Please, just hold on! I'm here!'

She screams with uncontrollable laughter. 'Oh yes, she's here! Hiding, like the useless little coward she is. You see how well you've done there, Lucius!'

I gulp on another sob.

'Hermione! Run… just run…'

I crumple into fresh sobs. His voice is quiet, hoarse, and interrupted by more laughter.

'Oh no, don't _run!_ That would spoil everything. Come on, itty bitty Mudblood!' she crows. 'Come out and play!'

I press my lips together and I swallow. A suppressed sob catches as a groan in my throat, and I pull myself to my feet, and I run. God knows how, but I have to get to him, and I have to save him-

But before I'm even three lunging steps forward a knock to the back of my head brings me to my knees. Fireworks explode behind my eyes as a wand is planted in my ribs, and I scream as the fingers on her free hand rip the hair from my head.

'IS _THIS_,' she screams, 'WHAT YOU LEFT ME FOR?'

I bite down hard on my lip, tasting blood. Where is he? _How_ is he? Oh god, he's dying, and all I can do is listen to her-

'This snivelling, ugly little bitch that can't even hold her own in battle?'

Her nails rip into my scalp, and god, I hate her, and I scream it, scream 'I hate you,' over and over, but she doesn't care, and oh, Lucius can't _die!_ I need him.

I love him.

I hate him.

I hate _her_.

Love and hate and… something unconnected. It's like… what I can feel is-

'I want an answer, Lucius!'

Electricity.

Pain in my back now as she pushes her knee into it. I look out of the corner of my eye and gag, tasting vomit in my mouth as I see him, lying in a crimson pool, clutching the wound on his ribs. His bloodless lips mouth soundlessly as his eyes focus on mine.

'Answer me, damn you!'

He groans, his eyes rolling in their sockets. 'Her… mi…'

Another scream of rage from her, but I barely hear it. I can feel the current pounding within me, throbbing in my veins.

'Oh, your precious _Hermione_! Some way from 'Mudblood' now, aren't we? You're so _pathetic!_'

More pain in my back, and I don't care, I just need him to live, and Ron, and myself, and the current is burning in my arms, I can feel it, and I know what it is, yes-

'Look at her! Snivelling, crying, weak. Answer me – is this really what you left me for?'

She has to know.

A burning, searing jolt flies from the nerves of my heart right down my arms, and I scream with fury and pain and sheer desperation, I _scream-_

I SCREAM.

And suddenly the weight of her is gone.

I turn my head, and she's flying back, and back, landing with a sickening crack on the floor. Lucius' wand leaps out of her hand and comes flying towards me. Without even thinking, I reach out an open hand to catch it.

For a few seconds I hear her ragged, harsh breathing as I stare dumbly at the wand in my hand, and then I look up to see her clamber to her feet, clutching with one hand at what looks like a broken arm.

Her face contains every definition of hatred and shock. Her face – not beautiful, as I once thought, but ragged, contorted with hate and bitterness. Wrong. Endlessly wrong.

My eyes flick down to Lucius, whose eyes rest on me, the ghost of a smile on his agonised, grey face.

I look back at Bellatrix, draw in two huge gulps of air, and I know what I must do.

'Yes,' I heave the words out, throwing them at her horrified face, '_this _is what he left you for.'

I don't have time to think. I lunge my hand towards her, the current ripping down my arm.

'AVADA KEDAVRA!'

The green light explodes from the end of the wand. The force of it blows my hair back as it sends shock waves through the room-

It hits Bellatrix square in the chest.

The shock doesn't leave her face, even as her eyes roll back into her skull and she crumples to the ground in a billow of black robes.

She's dead.

And I just don't care.

I stumble over to Lucius, choking on my own heaving breaths.

'Lucius!'

His lips form around soundless words as he heaves in deep, retching breaths.

There's no colour at all in his lips. None.

I fall to my knees next to him, gently taking his face in my hands. His skin is deathly white, coated with a pale film of sweat.

'It's alright, I'm here,' I whisper.

He pulls his lips back with what looks like incredible difficulty, reaching up to close his fingers around my wrist.

'I knew you would be,' he says, his voice a tiny thread.

I nod, my vision bleary with tears, and I reach for the knife that's planted in his skin, my hands shaking so badly I can barely move my fingers.

I look at him, trying to keep contact with his eyes, which are beginning to shift in and out of focus.

'Keep still,' I say as clearly as I can. 'You've got to keep still. Lucius, can you hear me?'

His lips barely move, but he manages to say the word. 'Yes.'

I nod, the motion jolting the tears out of my eyes, and I set myself to work...

But I don't know what to _do!_

Breathe. And breathe. Okay, this is fine, it's okay, it's fine, fine, fine-

I grip around the handle, and slowly, I start to pull.

His breathing comes in short, sharp bursts as I ease the knife out of him. It pulls up flaps of loose skin with it, and I gag as his warm, purer-than-pure blood spills over my hand.

He chokes on a cry of agony, but he says nothing, and eventually, god knows how, the knife comes free of his body.

I let out a lung-full of air in a rush, and I press my hands down on the open, gaping wound as I look down at him. His eyes are closed now, and his breathing is shallow and slow.

I grip at his hand. 'Lucius?'

His eyes open. They're dark, and glassy-

No. _NO!_

'Lucius, can you hear me?' I shake his hand, reaching up and brushing a hair from his forehead.

He licks his lips. 'Can't… see you…'

Yes, I know what that's like. I couldn't see when Bellatrix slashed my wrists… oh god, how did he save me then?

'Lucius,' I say very clearly, ignoring the lump in my throat, 'I need to make you a blood replenishing potion. Can you tell me how?'

He takes in several harsh breaths, then tries to speak-

But he chokes on the words, and instead a crimson droplet of blood seeps out of the corner of his mouth.

I press my hand harder into the wound, and I put my other arm under his shoulders, lifting him up slightly. My muscles strain with the effort.

'Lucius, _please!_' My voice rises hysterically. 'Can you just tell me where there's a book that will tell me how to do it, at least? Can you do that?'

But he just makes another wet choking noise. I don't think he could speak if he tried.

What can I do? I can't apparate with him, and I don't know how to make the fucking potion, and oh god, his pupils, his _pupils!_

'_PLEASE!'_ I scream. 'Please, help me to help you! I don't know what to _do!_'

But his breathing is quiet now, and the blood is coming too fast, and no no nononono, this can't be happening, isn't happening, how could it _possibly_ be happening?

I lean forward and kiss him shakily on his bloody lips.

'You can't die, do you hear me?' I whisper in sheer desperation.

His eyes flutter, and he takes a tiny, shallow breath.

'…mi… ne…'

His face relaxes.

His head rolls slowly to the side.

I stare at him, mute and numb as I watch his pupils expand, the black swallowing up the grey.

A bead of blood trickles out of the corner of his mouth.

'Lucius?'

I can barely whisper the word.

He doesn't reply. His glassy eyes and immobile face remain motionless.

It is over.


	49. Escape From Eden

'_Be with me always - take any form - drive me mad! Only do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you! Oh, God! It is unutterable! I cannot live without my life! I cannot live without my soul!'' – _Emily Bronte, _Wuthering Heights_

'_No man knows till he has suffered from the night how sweet and dear to his heart and eye the morning can be.' – _Bram Stoker_, Dracula_

* * *

Time slows to a halt.

White hot heat is spreading from my heart, through my chest, down to my stomach, swooping through my limbs and eventually rushing up to my head, making me dizzy as my brain is filled with white noise.

No.

_No._

I shake him again. 'Wake up!'

His body shakes uselessly, his eyes rolling in their sockets.

I won't give in. He'll be alright_._

'_Wake up!'_ I hiss at him, and I hit his chest. 'Bloody wake _up!_'

No. I won't be hysterical. Focus. I can fix this, I can!

I will. There's nothing I can't fix.

I point the wand at him. _'Innerverate!'_

The light hits his chest and spreads out over him in a wave.

Right. This is okay. He'll wake up now, and… why isn't it working?

I pull in a sharp, desperate breath, and I try again. _'Innerverate!_'

Why isn't it _working?_

_You know why._

No I bloody don't! He's going to be _fine!_

I push his hair aside, desperately pressing my fingers to the hollow under his jaw.

Nothing.

No. There must be. I'm just not feeling in the right spot.

I move my fingers along, and along, pushing my fingers in deeper, and deeper, but-

No. It's not over. If a heart can stop, it can be started again.

I throw the useless wand aside and I press my hands to his chest, pounding furiously before I press my lips to his, stop up his nose, and breathe into him, before pumping furiously at his heart again…

Not working.

Breathe, for god's sake, BREATHE!

I press my lips against his, pushing air in with all my might, then pumping at his chest-

Has it worked yet?

I push my fingertips against his throat again. Nothing. _Nothing._

Because there's nothing _there._

I grip at the front of his robes and shake him furiously. 'BLOODY WAKE _UP!_' I scream. 'DON'T YOU LEAVE ME! Don't you bloody… you _bastard_…'

The last words are swallowed up by dry, huge, racking sobs as I clutch him to me, rocking back and forth while I cling him to my chest.

I can't cry properly.

Because I can't _breathe_.

We were so close, so bloody close to being out of here, and oh god, how can I go on, how can _anything_ exist anymore?

I throw back my head and scream, because I can't think what else to do, and in my head I throw up words to some deaf god.

_Fuck you._

I press my knuckles into my forehead.

I can't… I can't do it. It's not possible. How could my _world_ be possible any more?

But I don't _have _to live…

I lower my hand, my breathing suddenly a little easier.

No. I don't have to live. I don't have to carry on in this black hole he's left me in.

I turn and scrabble around for the wand.

I can't go on. It's that simple. He left me with nothing but himself, and now even he's left me.

Left me.

_Oh-_

Yes. Left me. And I could search for the rest of my life, and I'll never see him again-

Then I have no option.

Holding my breath, I lift my shaking hand, holding the tip of the want to my temple, willing myself to say the words that will end it all, forever-and-ever-amen.

_The baby will die with you._

So what? What do I owe this child… it's not even a child, for god's sake. What do I owe this fucking bunch of useless cells that killed _him?_

_Nothing. _

Good. That's settled then.

_But don't _you _deserve to live_,_ Hermione?_

No. Not when my own stupidity killed him.

_You're a better person than he ever was. You know that. He knew that. That's why he fell in love with you. _

Yes, and look where that got him. He was right, when he told me that love wasn't worth dying for. Nothing is worth this agony, I know that now.

_He will have died for nothing if you kill yourself now._

But…

_You must survive. You owe it to him._

No, I don't. I owe him nothing. He's ruined my life.

_Well then you owe it to yourself, after everything._

To myself…

Myself.

Hermione Granger.

Mudblood. Muggle. Witch. Sinner. Saint.

Hermione Granger.

He told me, once, that I would not survive more than a month in captivity, given my level of compliance.

And yet… I'm alive.

Half dead, but still _here…_

After everything.

I release my fingers, and the wand clatters to the floor, and I cry impotent tears of self-loathing.

But I don't have to leave him.

I don't ever want to move, ever, ever again.

I lift his arm up, pressing his fingers to my lips, before wrapping his hand around my neck. I just want him to hold me again…

He's still warm.

'Please come back,' I whisper. 'Please.'

He gives no answer. His eyes are still open – glassy and dark. Windows to a house where nobody lives anymore.

I can't do this.

I can barely keep my eyelids open for sheer exhaustion.

I roll him over onto his side, and I turn over myself, bringing his arm up around me as I curl my body up with his, tucking us up together as I clutch his arm around my waist.

He always slept with his arms around me, in the end. But then I could feel his heartbeat in my back.

I bring his fingers to my lips, closing my eyes against the enormous effort of breathing, and then darkness wraps me in its merciful shroud, and I know no more.

* * *

A weight on my shoulder, and a slight shaking.

No, I won't let the darkness leave me. So warm, so comfortable.

'Hermione?'

Not his voice. Never his voice again…

But everything's warm and soft and pink for now, and I won't leave it-

More shaking.

'Hermione? Come on, darling. We've got to go.'

Can't move. Too painful.

Can't think. Even more painful.

'Just leave me here,' I mumble.

A long pause.

'I can't,' is the eventual reply. 'We need to get out of here, and I won't leave you.'

Hands grip my shoulder.

'Come on. It's over.'

Tears ease out of the corners of my eyes, rolling into my hair.

He takes a deep breath. I can hear it.

'Oh, Hermione.'

That does it for me, I'm afraid. It is too much. All the pain of the past few months – the torture, the threat of death, the need, the anguish, the grief, hope, and despair – is too much. My mind, or what remained of it, for better or worse, has broken.

I'm only eighteen. It's too much to ask of me.

His arm slides under my shoulder. 'Come on. You can do this.'

I stand up, or I'm pulled to my feet, and I sway but his grip is hard, and I cling to him, because if I don't have him I'll fall into an oblivion I won't be able to climb out of.

I can't look up from Lucius' body. In case he moves, or he opens his eyes-

Ron gives me a small shake. 'We have to go. Now. If any other Death-Eaters show up, or if Draco comes round-'

'I won't leave him,' I say, shaking my head.

He draws in a breath. 'He… he wouldn't want you to stay here to die.'

'But I can't leave him alone,' I say, gripping his hand to drive the point home. It's vital that he understands this. 'You don't know how lonely he was. He would never admit it, but he was.'

Ron nods, his lips a thin line. 'Yes, alright, but-'

'He likes being with _me_,' I say simply.

He closes his eyes for a moment, then carries on talking. 'I know, but he's… you have to let him go now. It's over.'

I reach out and grip at his arm. 'No. It'll never be over…'

He pulls me into a hug. I can't breathe, suddenly. It's too much...

'Ron, it hurts,' I whisper.

He holds me fiercely close. 'I know.'

Yes, he knows. Because he hurts too. And he and I are all alone – the only ones left standing amongst the wreckage Lucius and I wrought.

The door swings open.

The pair of us break apart. But the last person I ever expected to see comes through the door.

The first thing I irrationally notice is what a mess her hair is. It's come down of its usual elegant coiffe, tumbled over her shoulders. There's a fine scratch down her cheek, and there's mud on the hem of her gown.

Ron grabs me by the arm. 'We've got a wand!' he shouts, brandishing it at her to emphasize the fact.

She doesn't answer him. She says only; 'Where's my son?'

'Didn't you hear me?' Ron shouts.

She glares at him. 'I am unarmed. You may do as you like with me,' she says quietly, a dangerous, tense undertone to her words. 'But first you will tell me where my son is.'

Yes. She should know.

'He's over there,' I say, nodding at the corner.

Her eyes fall on Draco's body, and she lets out a kind of strangled cry as she throws herself towards him.

'He's alive,' Ron says hurriedly. 'Don't worry, he's… I don't think he's too badly hurt.'

But she won't believe it. She places her fingers beneath his ear, and her breathing relaxes as she feels the pulse beat under her fingers.

She brushes the hair off of his face. 'My poor boy…' she murmurs.

She presses a kiss on his forehead, before she turns to us with a hate-filled expression I've never seen on her before.

'What did you do to him?' she whispers.

Maybe she'll kill me if I say that I did it…

I really couldn't care less.

But Ron speaks up. 'It wasn't anything to do with us,' he says. 'It was Bellatrix.'

I suck in my breath, but his gaze doesn't even waver.

Her eyes narrow. 'My own sister? She loves her nephew-'

'Yes, but he… he tried to attack her to save his father, and she…' He falters slightly, before he carries on. 'It was self-defense, I think. At least she didn't kill him!' he adds defensively.

She stares at us for a few more moments, before taking a deep breath. 'And where is _she_?'

We fall into silence, but she doesn't need an answer. Her gaze falls on to the gathering of black heaps behind us for the first time.

She stands, mute, and walks blankly over to the three corpses, not reacting to Avery, but then…

She stands immobile for a moment. And then she lets out a tiny sob, bringing her hand to her mouth and turning around as she tries to collect herself.

We shouldn't be here. This is private to her…

I'm too numb to move.

'What did you do?' she whispers, but not to me, or to Ron. She looks down at the body of her husband. 'You fool, what did you _do?'_

She falls to her knees next to him, pushing aside folds of robe to see the source of all the blood.

I want nothing more than to slap her away. He's not hers…

But he _is_ hers.

_Was_ hers.

I clench my hand into a fist, digging my nails into my palm until I can feel warm, sticky blood collecting in its creases.

She turns to look at her sister, briefly, before she stands up to face us. 'How did they die?'

Ron turns to me, squeezing my hand in warning. 'Your sister killed your husband,' he says to her. 'The three of us were trying to escape, and so she killed him. And then…'

He trails off.

'You killed her?' she whispers.

Ron clears his throat, and shakes his head. 'No. Your husband did. Just after she stabbed him, he… he cursed her.'

I don't know whether he believes that himself, or not. But I'm damned if I'm going to correct him.

She turns her gaze from him to me. 'And _why_ was my husband trying to escape with you?' she asks, colder than ice. 'Hmm? Why was that, _Hermione?_'

I gulp, and I speak. 'N… Mrs Malfoy, I-'

'Don't call me that,' she says sharply, her eyes narrow.

She turns to look at her husband's dead body, her expression unreadable.

'I'd appreciate it if _you_ would not call me that,' she says quietly.

I draw in a shallow breath. I don't care about the answer to what I'm going to say. Nothing matters anymore.

'You knew,' I say dispassionately. It's not a question.

'Of course I _knew_,' she says harshly. 'I'm not stupid. And I've known him for years and years – far longer than you have, I might remind you.'

I gulp. I'd almost prefer it if she'd slapped me.

She takes a deep breath, trying to regain some composure. 'We weren't living together these past few months, but I saw him frequently,' she goes on. 'And I knew he was guarding you, of course I knew that. But whenever I mentioned you to him…'

She trails off, and takes a step towards me.

'What did you do, to make him love you?'

I say all I _can_ say. 'I don't know.'

A huge silence yawns between us like a chasm. She glares at me. I shake my head, slowly.

'He said he loved you?'

I turn to Ron. He's looking at me, an unanswerable question in his eyes.

'Please,' I mouth, silently, and I really don't know what I'm asking for.

'He said that?' he asks. '_Him?_'

Narcissa gives a small, dry sob as she looks down at her husband, bringing her fingers to her lips.

I somehow drag the words out of me. 'I don't expect you to forgive me for what we did-'

'Well, don't worry about that,' she says coldly, looking me straight in the eye, 'because I won't ever forgive you.'

I work up the nerve to speak. 'He said you never loved him-'

'That doesn't mean he wasn't _my _husband, does it?' she says sharply. 'How dare you? He was a husband, and a father. What right had you to claim him for your own?'

I sink my teeth into my lip. 'I would give anything to have never met your husband-'

She takes a few swift steps forwards, and the slap she gives me takes me completely by surprise. 'Don't you lie to me!'

'I'm not lying!' I shout. 'You have no _idea _what I've been through. Do you think I'd not give the whole world to be safe at home right now, with my parents still alive? I'd rather barely know him, as I used to, than have to live for the rest of my life missing him the way that I do right now! To know that I'll… I'll never see him again-'

The words are swallowed by more huge, keening sobs. I turn from her, covering my face. It hurts, it hurts so much-

A hand on my shoulder.

I turn. But it's _her_ hand on me, not Ron's.

I shake her away. 'DON'T TOUCH ME!'

I can't bear it. I can't bear the agonizing, yawning, gaping hole in my chest. I want to be numb, to finish completely, and oh god, kill me, for god's sake, kill me-

I don't realize I'm screaming until I feel Ron's hands on my arms, trying to pull me close.

'NO!' I hit him, pushing him away from me. 'No, no, no, nonono!'

He holds my arms away from him until I fall against him, screaming into his chest.

The crying goes on a long time. We fall to the floor, him cradling me against him as he rocks me back and forth like a child. And all I can do is sob utter nonsense. I don't even know what I'm trying to say.

He presses his lips to my ear, whispering words that don't make sense to me. Slow, comforting words that make no difference whatsoever.

As the sobs eventually slow down to hiccups, I hear her speak.

'There isn't much time,' she says quietly. 'My son will come round soon. And the Dark Lord is expecting you at his headquarters in less than twenty-four hours. You have perhaps an hour left before sunrise, and you need to be across the river by morning if you want to stand a chance of survival.'

I lift my head. My hair clings to my sticky face.

I don't care. I don't want to go.

'Why would you help us?' Ron asks. 'How do we know you're not luring us into a trap?'

She looks at him levelly. 'I came here because I knew, when I heard that tomorrow night all the Death Eaters were to be summoned to watch the execution of Lucius Malfoy, that my son would never stand back and allow it to happen. I knew he would try to save his father, regardless of the personal risk involved. And so I knew I had to come here to find him before the Dark Lord could beat me to it.'

'So?' Ron asks.

She takes in an irritated breath. 'So why, if I wanted to lure you into a trap, would I do so only so that my son could be punished for interfering in Lucius' punishment? I want my son to survive this whole sorry ordeal, and that means that both of us will need to go in to hiding as soon as possible.'

I look at Lucius' body, drowning out their words.

His eyes… they're still open, staring into the distance he can no longer see.

But they're not _him_ anymore.

'Why would you want _us_ to escape?' Ron goes on.

'I don't, particularly. But I also don't want you to be here when I revive my son, which I will need to do before we cross the river. In truth, I don't plan on him remembering this evening at all.'

That drags me out of the depths of the water I'm floating in.

'How is that possible?' I whisper. 'Even if you wipe his memory, word will get out about what happened this evening, once the… once the bodies are found.'

No one will ever know the effort that went into saying those words.

She glares at me. 'Not if I make sure he never comes into contact with anyone who might be able to tell him. And if that means altering his mind permanently and taking the pair of us out of the country, then so be it. I have no intention of him remembering that his father died because he was weak enough to fall under the spell of a Mudblood.'

'Don't say that word!' I say suddenly.

There's a silence.

I draw in a shuddering breath, and I crawl over to Lucius' body. 'I… I can't hear that word…'

I press my fingers to his cheek. It's cold, now.

I gasp out a tiny sob, cradling his face in my hands.

Ron speaks eventually, but not to me. 'I'm sorry to tell you this, Mrs... _Miss_, but you're going to have to know. Hermione… she's pregnant, alright?'

There's a long pause.

I don't look up. I lean forwards, resting my head on Lucius' chest.

It doesn't rise and fall as it should.

I fell asleep like this, once. He held my head to his chest, and I fell asleep like that, with one arm curved round his shoulders.

I could hear his heartbeat.

'Pregnant?' she whispers.

'Yes,' Ron says, as if he's relaying a distasteful crime. 'By your husband.'

I hear her swallow. 'Did Lucius know?'

'Yes.'

Another pause.

'Does Draco know?'

'Yes.'

'Well then,' she says, composing herself, 'in that case I have no choice. I'll have to take him abroad once his memory has been wiped of every mention of this scenario. He must never know. It would destroy him.'

Ron takes in a sharp breath. 'So he won't bother us? He won't come to find Hermione in the future?'

'No. It will never come to that.'

'How can we be sure we can trust you?'

'I give you my word,' she says quietly. 'I won't let my son be destroyed by knowledge such as that. I will tell him that his father died while fighting for the cause, and that the pair of us have been dismissed from service as a means of thanks.'

There's a small groan.

My head snaps up, every being of my body straining with hope-

But no. Draco stirs, but doesn't open his eyes yet, his lips moving slightly… then he is quiet and still.

You should never hope for anything. You will only end up disappointed. I thought I'd learned that, long ago.

I grip at Lucius' robes again. I can't stop touching him. Soon I won't be able to.

'You must leave,' she says rapidly. 'And leave now. Give me that wand.'

I raise my head to look at her. Her expression is deadly serious.

'You've got to be kidding,' Ron says flatly.

'I hardly think this is a suitable situation for humour,' she says without a hint of warmth. 'If you want my assistance in crossing the river – without which your friend will never survive the journey, I might add – then you will give me that wand. If my son and I want any chance of survival, then we will have to use it to apparate abroad as soon as we're out of here.'

'Oh, that's all very well for _you,_ isn't it?' Ron hisses. 'What about us? What are _we_ supposed to do?'

'In return,' she goes on, as if he has not spoken, 'I am willing to allow you to set off before us, to provide you with passage over the river, and directions to the nearest muggle village. It is only an hour or so's walk away, and the directions are simple enough. From there you can find your way home, somehow. Quite frankly, what you do then is beneath my concern.'

Ron exhales, shaking his head. 'You're an unfeeling bitch, you are.'

She raises an eyebrow. 'Perhaps. But you won't get out of here if I don't get that wand, Weasley. Make your decision, and make it quickly.'

They glare at each other for a few moments. I ignore them completely. The outcome will be the same for me, either way. Lucius will still be dead.

'I guess we have no choice,' Ron says through gritted teeth.

'Exactly,' she replies.

Ron takes a deep breath, steps forwards, and hands her the wand. She takes it without emotion.

'Good,' she murmurs, before turning to me and the corpses that litter the floor. 'Which one of them has a key?'

'Dunno,' Ron answers. 'Bellatrix, I think.'

Narcissa turns and looks at her sister's body, and her face seems to crumple. She reaches out, before she draws breath, and shakes her head as her arm flops down by her side.

'Do you… do you want me to get it?' Ron says, almost timidly.

She inhales, smartly brushing her fingertips across her cheek. 'If you would. Please.'

Ron crouches down, and filches through Bellatrix's pockets until he pulls out a transportation key, which he hands to Narcissa.

'Thank you,' she says quietly.

'Wait!' I say quickly.

They both turn to look at me.

'What… what are you planning to do with them?' I whisper.

Her eyes fall onto Lucius. It's only now that I realize I'm clutching at his hand.

'I don't know,' she says, her voice little more than a whisper. 'I suppose… I'll have to… to move them before Draco…'

She falters, unable to finish the thought.

It's difficult for her, too, I know that.

Oh Christ, I can't do this. I can't leave him. He needs me. He _must_ still need me.

Ron coughs. 'You could throw… put them in the lake, if you wanted,' he says haltingly. 'It would be more like a burial than anything else you've got time for.'

The lake?

No. He can't go in there. He wouldn't want to let those creatures get him…

But I can't leave him here… to rot – oh _god._

Too much. I won't think about that. _Can't_ think about that. It'll drive me mad.

_Too late._

'They're pure bloods,' she whispers. 'They'd float to the surface in a moment-'

'Not if…' I swallow, then speak again. 'I know they can't stay here. So… so you can use some of my blood, if you want.'

She narrows her eyes. 'And the price?'

I pause, looking down at Lucius.

'Can I… can I put him in the water? Please? I know it's a lot to ask, but…'

She looks at me coldly. 'You think you have more claim over him than I do?'

I swallow. I don't want to say what I'm thinking. How can I?

She sighs, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. 'He was _my_ husband, not yours,' she says quietly. 'He was my friend and companion for twenty years, which I flatter myself counts for more than a season-long affair. And whatever else he was to you, he was not your friend. I could tell that much.'

I close my eyes against the threatening tears. No, we weren't friends. We were enemies till the end.

'That being said, it makes no difference to anything,' she murmurs. 'If it means so much to you, you may lay him to rest, if you wish.'

I let out my breath in a rush. 'Thank you.'

She nods, and holds out her hand to me. 'Give me your arm.'

I stand up and do as she says, barely feeling the pain as she uses the wand to tear a small rip into my skin, letting my blood drip onto Lucius' chest.

I focus on only what I'm doing. I won't focus on what I'm going to have to do very soon.

'Come on. I'll take you to the lake.'

Ron takes her hand, and mine, and I reach down to grip on to Lucius' hand, and all four of us press into a dark, airless void, turning endlessly.

We emerge on the river bank. The bright blue light of the water hurts my eyes.

She turns to me. 'May I say my goodbyes, please?'

I nod wordlessly, dropping Lucius' hand like a stone.

She approaches her husband's body, kneeling down beside it.

I turn my head away, and Ron takes my arm and walks me over to the other side of the bank.

I can't see what she's doing. Can't hear what she's saying, either.

I don't want to know. It's not a part of me.

'She's not that bad, I suppose, is she?' Ron murmurs quietly.

I shake my head. 'No. No, she's not.'

Then we're silent. He doesn't know what to say, and I don't want to say anything.

'I am one of the ancient and most noble house of Black,' Narcissa calls out behind us. 'I require passage over the river.'

We turn to face her. She's holding a small glass vial to a cut in her arm, collecting her blood in it. She heals the wound when she's done, then turns to walk towards us.

There's a small, glistening tear on her cheek.

She hands the vial of blood over to Ron.

'When you are over the river, go straight on, through the woods,' she says levelly. 'Eventually you will come to a hill. Walk on over the hill, and on the other side you'll find a road. Turn left, and follow that road. Eventually you will come to a village. From there, you will be able to find your way home, I assume.'

Ron turns to me. 'We can use one of those telly-phone things to find the Order, right?'

I nod wordlessly.

There's a pause while Narcissa looks at me.

'Will you tell your child of its father's true identity?' she asks.

For a moment I don't answer, struck dumb by shock. Firstly, I don't know why the hell she asking me, or what kind of answer she wants me to give, and secondly… Jesus, I don't know…

But I _do _know. What other option do I have?

I look to Ron. He takes a deep breath through his nose, and he nods wordlessly.

I know what that nod means. I know, because I know Ron.

I shake my head. 'No.'

Her eyes narrow, but she nods. 'That is one mercy for it, at least.'

She looks at both of us, one to the other, then she looks at her husband one last time.

'Good luck to you both,' she murmurs.

Ron clears his throat. 'And to you,' he says quietly.

She nods at him before she holds the key aloft in her hand and disappears completely.

I turn to Ron. 'Can I have five minutes, please?'

He nods, turning quickly from me and walking several feet away, looking resolutely at the ground.

I turn to look at the corpse on the floor at my feet.

At _my _feet.

His eyes are still open. His body still exists. But he's not inside.

'She was too good for you, you know.'

But he gives no answer.

I fall to my knees next to him. They graze on the water-bed. 'Was I?'

Perhaps he thought so, secretly. Or perhaps he still thought I would never be good enough for him. I'll never know, because I'll never be able to ask him.

I reach out, wiping the blood away from his lips and smoothing the hair off of his forehead.

'You mustn't worry,' I whisper. 'I forgive you… everything. Even my… my parents, I… '

I choke on my tears. My parents. I can't go to them. He made sure of that.

'How could you leave me all alone?' I whisper. 'You took everything, left me only with you, and then_ you_ left me…'

I start to keen like a wounded animal over his body, clutching at his robes.

'Oh god, how could you do it?' I choke through my tears. 'Please… please don't…'

But it's no good. What words could bring him back?

I wind my arm under his neck, lifting his head up, resting his back on my knees. So heavy… so heavy…

I hold him to me, like he held me, time after time. A tear falls on his cheek. I brush it away with my thumb.

I never saw _him _cry. I never will, now.

'You mustn't forget me,' I whisper. 'I don't care how long you have to wait for me, you mustn't forget me. Because I can't forget _you_, do you understand that?'

Why am I talking to this… object? It's not _him…_

But it _is_ him.

Could he hear me, anyway? Who really knows? For all I know, he's just… ceased to be.

No… too much – pain, unending pain in my chest, can't breathe-

I can't believe it, even if it could easily be true. Not if I'm going to hold on to my sanity.

Sanity.

That word's like an impossible dream.

I lift his face to mine, and I press a kiss to his lips. His cold lips…

Cold.

Dead.

_Dear Lord, let me see Lucius Malfoy suffer. Let me see him beg for mercy. Let me see him die._

Perhaps someone _was _hearing my prayers, after all.

I can taste his blood on my lips.

I pull away and look over his face, one last time. His face… are his features pointed, or sloped? Aristocratic, or regular?

I don't know. I didn't ever really think about how his face looked, particularly. It was just… _him._

I smooth back his hair again, and I look into the eyes that can no longer see. Not grey now. Black.

I reach a shaking hand out, and I close the lids over his eyes. It doesn't matter. They're not his eyes anymore.

'I love you.'

There's nothing more I can say.

Somehow – I don't think I'll ever know how – I drag him over to the lake, and taking hold of his hand, I ease him into the water, watching him sink away through the tears that threaten to blind me.

'Goodbye.'

I grip at his hand – I can still see his face, his hair swirling around him – and I don't want to let go, I won't let go, ever…

But then an irresistible force grips at him and I choke on a sob, and I can see long green fingers grip at him, pulling him, and maybe I should just let them take me too…

But then my fingers unlock automatically, and I watch, helpless, as he sinks away into darkness.

He's gone.

That's the last time I'll ever see his face.

I groan quietly, and I lie down on the bank, exhausted. I just want to sleep here. To sleep, and to never wake up.

A hand on my shoulder.

'Come on, Hermione. It's time to go.'

No.

I curl up feotally, pushing his hand away. 'I don't want to go.'

'You have to, darling. You can't stay here.'

I wrap my arms around my head. I want everything to just go away. 'I can't do it.'

'You can.'

I gulp. 'You won't _make_ me, Ron. Please, just leave me here.'

But he puts his arm around me, and gives me a shake.

'Listen to me,' he says firmly. 'You have been through so much. _We_ have been through so much. We have seen things that no person should have to see, and we have survived.'

I choke on my own groan of misery.

He puts his arm under my shoulders, pulling me up to my feet, holding me upright.

'He didn't survive this, but you did,' he murmurs. '_You_ did. Look at me. Hermione, look at me!'

I raise my dead weight head. He looks me straight in the eye.

'You survived,' he whispers.

I swallow down hard. My ears are ringing.

'Do you remember when I was first captured?' he says. 'Bellatrix told us that we would die as soon as they were finished with us. But we're alive, Hermione. Months later, we're still alive.'

I drag a hiccuping breath, and breathe a sigh.

'I'm so tired, Ron.'

He takes hold of my chin, looking into my eyes.

'Don't you give in,' he says fiercely. 'Not now. Not after everything.'

I slump forwards and press my forehead to his chest, head spinning.

'I don't know whether I can do it.'

He curls his fingers into my hair.

'You don't have to do it alone, Hermione.'

I take that in, slowly.

He's right, I know he is. I have to live. To learn to live again.

'Come on.'

He takes my hand, helping me into the boat, pushing it away from the bank with his foot.

I watch our home of the past however many months disappear into the darkness. The fairy-queen palace of my childhood story books, I've always thought it looks like.

Terrible.

But beautiful.

I turn my head away. I don't believe in fairy tales any more.

I don't believe in God anymore. Just another fairy story.

Ron says nothing. Neither do I.

This boat seems empty without _him. _He's always been with me when I've been in it before.

_So long ago… do you remember?_

How could he ask me if I remembered _that?_

I can feel his hand in mine, though my fingers flex around empty air.

The ceiling of the cave disappears as we come out into the open air. The sky is a dusky blue, and there's a tinge of dark pink at the horizon. The sun will rise soon.

A tinge of green in the water catches my eye.

Green, blank, glowing eyes stare back at me from the water. One pair. Two. Three…

A horrible thought occurs to me then – will he become… one of them?

I… god, I hope not.

Perhaps I should let them drag me down – down to an endless abyss that's dark and terribly cold. We could float through the darkness together, forever and ever amen.

But instead Ron opens the vial of blood and pours it into the water, banishing the pairs of eyes into the black depths. It swirls in the water – thick and crimson. Narcissa Malfoy's purer than pure blood.

It looks just the same as mine.

'Why did you hate me so much?' I whisper. 'What made your wife so much more worthy of you?'

There's no answer. There'll never be an answer again. And he never really did tell me why he hated me so much, because I never understood any answer he gave me on that matter.

I hate him for that. If he'd just been honest with himself – if he'd just been less of a coward, then we could have escaped weeks ago, and he'd be alive now.

'Hermione?' Ron murmurs.

I shake my head. 'Nothing.'

I close my eyes, muttering a mantra of survival.

_I can live. I have to live. I can live. I have to live-_

The boat bumps.

I open my eyes.

We're here. On the other side. Back in the land of the living.

Ron climbs out of the boat, giving his hand to me to help me out, too.

My foot lands on the bank, and as soon as I'm on dry land the boat floats back over the river, disappearing into the mist.

I turn to Ron. 'Could I have a second?'

His lips thin out but he nods, and he takes a good few strides away from me.

I turn back to the water.

He said he'd die before he gave me up, once.

There's so much I want to ask him, still. I want to ask everything he ever thought or felt about me, about Ron, his wife, his son.

I want to see whether he'd make a good father the second time around.

'You must wait for me,' I whisper to the cold air. 'You have to promise me that.'

No answer.

Harry said that he heard voices behind the veil at the Department of Mysteries. He swore to it. I thought he was losing it at the time, especially when Luna said she heard them too…

But some things can't be understood. That's what Dumbledore always said.

I can only hope that he's waiting for me. Even if it's only in oblivion.

A light breeze pulls its fingers through my hair.

How will it be the same? If there is something after, how can it be the same as it was in life?

I wonder how long he'd wait? Time can go by ever so slowly when you're waiting for something.

But I have to wait too. For the rest of my life. And in the meanwhile, I can't stay here.

Fingers brush against my own. I turn, and it's Ron that's with me, now.

'Are you ready?'

_No, Ron, I'm not ready. I'll never be ready. But I can never tell you that, ever._

I nod. 'I'm ready.'

* * *

We come free of the woods, and for a while I remain still, watching while the sky turns a dusty orange where it joins the grass on the horizon.

You shouldn't look directly into the sun, they say.

But then, after what I've seen my eyes could probably survive staring into the pit of hell itself.

Hell. We've escaped from hell.

I thought I'd die there. I thought Lucius himself would kill me.

Typical. That he should have the easy way out, and I should be the one who has to suffer, as always. He's still winning, even in death.

No. No, I won, in the end. I made him love, and that was what proved to be his undoing. In saving him, I killed him.

But he didn't manage to kill me.

I slip my hand on to my belly.

All I can hope is that this child is worth it.

A ray of light breaks over the horizon. It sears into my eyes, burning them and temporarily blinding me.

I haven't seen the sun in months.

'Keep going over the hill, she said,' Ron murmurs.

I turn to him. He smiles a small, sad smile.

'I'm still here, Hermione. We'll be alright.'

He takes my hand, linking his fingers with mine.

Ron.

Ronald Weasley.

Lucius Malfoy.

I swallow down the tears, and together we take our first tentative steps forwards towards the sunrise, and the new life that awaits us there.


	50. Epilogue

'_This is the Hour of Lead-  
Remembered, if outlived,  
As Freezing persons, recollect the Snow-  
First - Chill - then Stupor - then the letting go-' – _Emily Dickenson_, After Great Pain, a Formal Feeling Comes_

* * *

I told you this was not the place to come for happy endings.

Perhaps I lied. After all, isn't this a happy ending? The heroine and the boy she loves have survived, and the villains of the story are dead.

This is not a real ending. The loose ends haven't been tied up in a nice bow. The loose ends stare back at Hermione in the mirror. They are the eyes that have seen too much. They are the scars that cross over her wrists. And they are the other scars that never healed – the odd one Lucius missed, on her back, on her lower legs, and on the inner flesh of her arm.

The loose ends are the nightmares in garish colours of red and black that cause her to wake up screaming and clawing the bed sheets. They are the gnawing, black depressions that often keep her in bed for days at a time. They are the days she turns, frantically, upon seeing a white blonde head in the crowd. They are her complete inability to ever hear the word 'mudblood' again.

And then we come to the biggest loose end of all.

'_Now the serpent was more crafty than any of the wild animals the Lord God had made…' _

When she first walked – or stumbled, rather – with Ron into the Order's headquarters, she thought life truly impossible. She fell to the floor, and passed out.

Darkness took over her world. She slept. For weeks, months, she lay in bed with the curtains drawn. Didn't move. Didn't speak. Ate only when necessary.

But Ron stayed with her, with a patience reserved for saints. Always there, waiting for the day when the girl he loved would speak again. For when she would return from the dark place Lucius Malfoy had sent her.

And so, after a while, she began to talk. And Ron listened. Ron – the only person who might understand.

They never married. They posed as a couple upon their escape, and he held her hand as she gave birth to Lucius' son.

'_He said to the woman, 'Did God really say, you must not eat from the tree in the garden?''_

It was only after the birth of her son that she became ready to allow Ron to become more than a friend to her. But eventually, time took its course. How could it not? She loved Ron. Loves him. More than she will ever begin to articulate.

And it's not hard for her to love him. Which for her is a wonderful thing.

He brings her son up as his own. He plays quidditch with him, and reads to him, and tucks him up in bed at night. He loves him as best as he can, considering how much he hates the boy's real father.

It would be a lot easier for Ron if the boy resembled Hermione.

'_The woman said to the serpent, 'We may eat fruit from the trees in the garden…''_

Fortunately for Hermione, her oldest son doesn't have Lucius' eyes. It's hard enough for her that he so resembles his father, but if she had to face Lucius' eyes everyday she would probably lose her sanity.

People gossip, of course. They were bound to. During her captivity, Harry had spread the word that Lucius Malfoy was keeping Hermione prisoner for Voldemort, so that anyone who might have found Lucius would know that Hermione wasn't far away.

When Hermione moved in with Ron so soon after their escape, and then a few months later gave birth, people chuckled slyly and said that Ron worked fast.

The laughter grows quiet as the boy grows older, and people can see no resemblance between the red-haired, freckled Ron, and the blonde, pale boy he calls his son.

_Poor girl_, people whisper.

'…_but God did say, you must not eat fruit from the tree that is in the middle of the garden…'_

It is one of the more unpleasant aspects of human nature that as a species we take a certain pleasure in the misery of others. Therefore, the speculation about what must have happened to Hermione during her captivity goes on for years, long after the war ends.

People wouldn't have thought it of Lucius Malfoy. Lucius Malfoy came from a family that had upheld the pureblood supremist mentality for decades. He saw Mudbloods as sub-human.

'…_and you must not touch it…'_

As Hermione's son grows older, people whisper that Lucius Malfoy's so called all-important ideals didn't seem to be much of an obstacle for him. Not when he saw fit to do that to a teenage muggle-born.

'…_or you will die.'_

Hermione never says anything. She lets people whisper, and she kindly but firmly rebuffs any attempts made to talk to her about it. After all he's done for her, she will not hurt Ron by telling people that she loved Lucius Malfoy, and that he fought against his feelings for her kicking and screaming, because he didn't want to believe that the ideals he'd based his whole life on could mean so little to him.

_So brave, _they whisper as she passes them in the street. _It must be awful to have a rapist's kid. To watch it grow. And for it to look so much like it's father._

Hermione bites her lip, and gets on with her life as best she can, one day at a time.

'_You will not surely die, the serpent said to the woman…'_

She has two more children, both of them with Ron. A boy and a girl. Thankfully, they resemble their father.

Lucius and Hermione's son doesn't know the truth about his parentage. He hears some of the whispers as he gets older, of course. But he ignores them, for his mother's sake as well as his own. In his opinion, it's nothing more than gossip.

You can't blame him for not wanting to believe that his father was a rapist Death-Eater.

'…'_For God knows that when you eat of it your eyes will be opened…'_

Can you imagine Lucius and Hermione being together in the outside world? Buying a house together, having children, and getting a dog? Lucius making Hermione breakfast in bed? Arguing about the mortgage and sitting in the garden drinking tea?

It would never have worked.

'…_and you will be like God, knowing good and evil.'_

She can't let him go. He's always there, at the back of everything, always. As it ever was. When she wakes up in the morning, when she cooks breakfast for her children, when she goes to work, he's always there, like a shadow.

It's particularly strong when she looks at her son. Her blonde elder son, who has all the bearing and the stance of the aristocrat he will never be.

She wants to die, and that is the sad fact of the matter. Every day she thinks about it, toys with the idea. But she knows that she owes it to herself to survive. Survival, once a tenuous thing she couldn't hold on to, has become her duty. She looked death in the eyes when she was little more than a child, and so now she knows she has a responsibility to live.

And so she keeps Lucius a secret. Her dark secret. For the rest of her life, she keeps him walled up inside her soul. She talks about him with nobody, not even Ron. She keeps him within herself. Deep down, hidden, where no-one can see.

She wakes up in the morning. She sends her children to school. She eats breakfast and reads books and avoids the neighbours and goes to work and comes home to eat the dinner Ron prepares for her and the kids. She goes to bed. Sometimes she sleeps. Often she doesn't.

She waits.

There is no alternative for her.

* * *

'_The World was all before them, where to choose  
__Their__ place of rest, and Providence __their__ guide:  
They hand in hand with __wandering__ steps and slow,  
Through __Eden__ took __their __solitary__ way.' –_ John Milton, _Paradise Lost_


End file.
